


The Department of Magical Law Enforcement

by devdevlin



Series: Hearts of Black [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angry Harry, Angst, Co-workers, Dark!Hermione, Eventual Smut, F/M, Slow Burn, tomione - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-02-22 07:55:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 152,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13162611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devdevlin/pseuds/devdevlin
Summary: What if Voldemort survived the Battle of Hogwarts? Flight instead of fight? Seven years after the Battle of Hogwarts, Hermione is appointed to the team given the task of tracking him down. But when an attractive young man, who Harry is strangely suspicious of, is appointed as her boss, things quickly get out of hand...





	1. At The Ministry

 

**Then…**

Stale air lingered over the Great Hall. The stench of death was thick, the toll the Battle had taken on the school of Hogwarts great. The injured and the dead filled the now open Hall, the space resembling a morgue more so than a school.

In the centre of it stood He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and the Boy Who Lived, the two who would surely bring about the end of the war. All attention had moved to them, an eerie silence falling over the crowd. The fighting on each side had ceased, all eyes on the pair.

Lord Voldemort’s arms tremored with rage.

The end was nigh, all knew it. A matter of a single spell would end this war here, now.

The Potter boy - the pesky, insolent, _bane_ of his existence - raised his wand. Glancing around quickly, the Dark Lord was unable to locate any faces of his remaining followers. The majority, he knew, had fallen, and the anger of witnessing the death of his prodigy still ran deep. Those who had not fallen had run, abandoned him –

 _Traitors_.

Instead, all he could see were children, their parents, their teachers, their loved ones. The stubborn _dregs_ of society, standing together like a band of ants, all basked in a hue of _red._

There were two clear options left to him. Though he could hardly see straight, that much was clear; cast the spell and kill the boy, or... run. The wards surrounding the castle had been broken, he could simply apparate away, bide his time.

Yet he hesitated. Would he ever get another opportunity like this one? The chance to make an example of his power, the chance for all to _finally_ see the death of the infamous Harry Potter?

But with Nagini no longer by his side, he was vulnerable. Even if he killed the boy right now, what would stop the spectators sending their own killing curses back? He was the greatest wizard who’d ever lived, yet even _he_ would surely struggle to fight them all off at once.

He sneered.

Making a split-second decision as he watched the boy open his mouth to send a curse, Voldemort span on the spot and vanished from the battlefield with a satisfying, resonating _crack._

As he opened his eyes and inhaled after the pressure of apparition, Voldemort took in the familiar surroundings of the forest of Albania. He stood as the silence of the trees rung loudly in his ears, breathing in and out deeply to quell the bubbling fire in his veins. He wasn't one for such indecencies, he never had been, but in the current circumstances, there was not a hope of it being withheld. As loud as he could, he yelled, " _fuck!"_ and threw the Elder Wand in rage.

 

* * *

 

" _Expelli-_ " Harry's voice broke off as he witnessed the man who had made his life a living hell disappear. _No. He could not run. Not now, when it was so close to over._ He looked around anxiously, anticipating seeing him appear behind him.

But the snake-like face he searched for was not there. He did not appear in the crowd, not behind him, not in front.

He was gone.

_No. No, no, no, COWARD._

" _COWARD!_ " Harry yelled.

His voice echoed through what was left of the Great Hall. The students, teachers, and families surrounding him murmured amongst themselves, before they slowly began to approach. The first ones to reach Harry were, of course, Ron and Hermione.

_Who else?_

"I... I don't think he's coming back, Harry," Hermione said in a small voice as Harry spun, still looking for any sign of the Dark Lord.

"He _can't_ be gone! This needs to end!" Harry yelled. " _NO!_ "

"Mate, it is over," Ron encouraged. "For now, at least."

Harry knew his friends were right. The crowd seemingly agreed with Ron and Hermione as well; they had huddled, families checking on their relatives, others wandered over to where their loved ones had fallen.

"No... no..." his voice trailed off as his vision blurred. The last thing he saw before exhaustion took over were the faces of his best friends.

 

* * *

 

**Now…**

"Urggghhh, get it!" Ron Weasley groggily ordered as his wife's magical alarm clock coo-cooed at 5.30 am sharp.

Hermione rolled over and switched it off, forcing herself out of bed before she had a chance to reconsider.

It was the day – her first day working as the Deputy Head in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. It had only been a year since she had been promoted from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures to Magical Law Enforcement, and yet she had already risen in the ranks to become the second in charge. Admittedly, she had the incompetencies of the previous team to thank for her success – partially, at least. If there hadn't been a complete overhaul of the department after the seven-year anniversary of Lord Voldemort's disappearance, she never would have risen so high so soon.

It also didn't hurt her cause being so well connected to the famous Harry Potter and the Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt.

She dressed quickly in excitement, choosing her favourite set of maroon dress robes that reminded her of her Gryffindor roots which she had laid out the night before. She hurried as she tamed her bushy hair into a reasonably neat bun and applied a thin layer of makeup, leaving herself with time to enjoy her toast and morning coffee.

She sighed happily as she relaxed into her chair at the dining table. Hermione loved the small cottage she and Ron called home. After getting married a year ago, they found the cottage with the help of Bill and Fleur, not far from where the Lovegoods lived. It reminded her strongly of the Burrow (Mrs. Weasley wouldn't have had it any other way), but smaller. With only a single bedroom, it was perfect for the couple – though not so perfect for if and when they had children. Ron's family seemed to want them to have children more than Hermione did, and it didn't help that Ron had been growing increasingly fond of the idea. Why they couldn't understand that having children at this point in her life was a career-ender, she didn't know. Trying to explain that to Ron had caused such an argument than it almost stopped them from getting married in the first place.

Shaking her thoughts away from family, Hermione charmed her dishes to clean themselves, grabbed her things, and straightened her robes before heading to the fireplace. She was eternally thankful for the Floo connection between their house and the Ministry - something that Harry had arranged for them one they moved in. Tucking her arms in, Hermione stated 'Ministry for Magic', and was engulfed in green flames.

She took in a deep breath to calm her nerves as she stepped out of the fireplace onto the hard-wooden floors of the Ministry Atrium. At only seven in the morning, the Ministry was already bustling. Crowds of robed witches and wizards hurried every which way, owls flew overhead, and in the centre stood a newly erected monument to the lives lost during the Battle of Hogwarts. Hermione's heart panged as she stopped and took a moment to look over it, something she had been doing fairly often since it had been built. It had taken a long time to grieve the losses of that day, and even longer to stop the nightmares.

With a sad smile, she looked away from the monument and carried on over to the lifts.

She got out at the second floor and headed for the east side, through the Investigation Department towards the offices.

_Her new workplace._

The Department, she knew, had never been as large as it was now. Since Voldemort's disappearance, the staff had slowly risen in number over the years, and it had grown to become the Ministry's largest Department by far.

It was also the largest in terms of staff turnover.

It was a running joke the Daily Prophet simply loved to draw attention to.

The most recent target of the newspaper’s scrutiny had been the former Head of Department. After having insisted upon replacing more than half of staff due to the failure to catch Lord Voldemort, the media’s barrage had been relentless, and it wasn’t long before he was sacked. They hadn't yet announced who Hermione's new boss was to be, leaving Harry, who had been in the position of the Head of the Auror Office for a year, and now herself in charge.

She made her way through the main hall and into the Head's office, where her booth was located. Really, it was more like an office itself, the booth took up about a quarter of the office and was walled off with half-walls topped with glass windows. She made her way inside and plonked her bag on the desk, immediately drawing out her things and expanding them back to their proper size. She drew out the picture of her parents and magically attached it to the wall. Next to that, she arranged a photo of herself and Ron, next to one of herself, Harry, and the Weasleys all together. Satisfied, she started unpacking her quills, parchments, and muggle pens, which she found to be far easier to write with.

"Hermione!" A booming voice greeted from the booth door. There, in his very impressive colourful robes, stood Kingsley. "Good to see you! Early on your first day?"

"You know me, I wouldn't have it any other way," she chimed. "How are you? How's the job treating you?"

"Good, good, it has its moments of course, and the Improper Use of Magic office is close to making me want to throw myself out of a window, but mostly it's going well," he laughed. "Now, before you get lost in the ocean of work to do, I would like to introduce you to someone, come."

Hermione followed Kingsley out of the booth and back into the main office where he gestured towards the desk. Seeing no one there just as it had been when she entered, she frowned. As she was about to question Kingsley, a tall man rose from where he had evidently been crouching behind the desk at the drawers. It was surprising that he was able to fit behind it as he was quite tall.

"Miss Granger, I presume?" the man asked upon seeing her. Immediately, Hermione noticed that the man was attractive. Ridiculously so. He looked about her age, with short black hair which was combed back, and a fine layer of stubble over what looked like a strong jaw line. His cheek bones were prominent, and he had some of the darkest brown eyes she had ever seen. Even his posture was perfect.

"It's Weasley now, but yes," Hermione chimed, blushing lightly.

"Oh, my apologies," he said as he made his way around the desk. "Ben Jenkins," he extended a large hand and took hers in greeting, his hand was cool and his grip firm. His eyes didn't leave hers until he released his grip.

"Now, it hasn't been officially announced yet, but Ben here has just been appointed as the new Head of the Department," Kingsley explained, smiling lightly.

"Oh!" Hermione was genuinely surprised. "That's... that's great!" In truth, she was a bit disappointed. She had been hoping that Harry would have gotten the promotion, even though his rise to the Head of the Auror Office had been very quick as well. But this Ben? She couldn't remember ever hearing of him. And Hermione made it her job to know people.

"I didn't realise the appointment had already been filled! I thought we'd be without a Department Head for weeks!" She said to Kingsley.

"Well, we were beginning to think that way too. But, when the Scandinavian Ministry forwarded the recommendation to me, I couldn't ignore his outstanding qualifications. Had I known of you before we appointed Williamson, you would've been given the position then and there!" Kingsley said, before muttering, "What a nightmare."

"You're much too kind, Minister," said Ben.

"So, you're from the Scandinavian Ministry then?" Hermione inquired.

"Yes, from the Stockholm branch. I was part of the Investigation Office there."

"'A part'," scoffed Kingsley. "From what I hear you _were_ the Investigation Office."

"Well, yes, the office certainly had far fewer aurors than here. And rightfully so, here is in far greater need."

Hermione racked her brain. She _had_ heard something in the Prophet about the Stockholm Investigation Office. But what was it...

"His office have been the only ones to have found a peep from You-Know-Who in the last two years," Kingsley said, memories of the news came rushing back to Hermione. "Borderline embarrassing, how can a country lose a wizard? And such a notorious wizard at that."

"Notorious yes, but also brilliant," Ben said with an odd sort of smile.

"It didn't harm his cause that this office has been such a disaster either," Kingsley said more to himself than to either of them. "But no matter, this is where the two of you come in. With your knowledge, and Hermione and Harry's experience, I'm sure we'll have the best possible chances of actually getting somewhere."

"Yes, I must say, I'm rather excited to be working with the famous Hermione Granger," Ben said warmly. Hermione restrained the urge to correct him about her name again. "And you of course, Kingsley, and Mr. Potter. What it must have been like, to actually meet You-Know-Who himself. What I would give to have that opportunity. And to duel him no less," he directed at Kingsley.

Hermione frowned. Why would he speak in such a manner about the dark wizard who had terrorised the country for years? The wizard who he had been appointed to track down? The very wizard who had made her youth - and Harry's - a living hell?

His smile died down as he took in Hermione's expression.

"Oh, I'm sorry, it's a delicate topic, I'm sure. I meant no harm," Ben said quickly.

"That's quite alright," she said grimly. "The wounds are still quite raw, you understand."

"Of course."

"Yes, well, Williamson has left all of the files we have on You-Know-Who in the boxes here next to the door. Hermione, that will be a good place to start until Ben officially takes the lead of the Department. Also, the Heads of the Divisions will be meeting in my office at 1pm with the three of us so you can all become acquainted, and we can decide on our future directions from there," Kingsley explained. "Now, I must be off, I have a meeting in ten minutes, but I'll be seeing you in a few hours."

"Thank you, Kingsley," Hermione said as he left the office.

Ben cleared his throat before the silence could grow awkward. "That's a lot of files for a case that hasn't found anything in years," he said, nodding to the stack of boxes.

"Lucky me," Hermione uttered facetiously as she drew her wand and levitated them into her booth. "Are you a native to Sweden, then?"

"No, no, I lived there for a few years while I worked, and travelled for a few years before that, but in truth, I am English. Once You-Know-Who quietened down after the first war, my family fled; they didn't want to take any chances. I lived and went to school in Australia which turned out to be pretty lucky for me, with the Battle of Hogwarts and all," he explained.

"Right. So, had you been here, the Battle would have affected your education?" Hermione asked. "If you don't mind me asking, how old are you? You look... well... very young for this position."

"I could say the same about you," Ben smirked. "Twenty-seven in December."

Hermione felt a sharp pang of jealousy. He was only slightly older than her, and he had leap-frogged her to Department Head. It was petty, she knew, as Deputy Head was still impressive in its own right, yet in her mind there was still a big jump.

"Well, I should leave you to it," he said as the conversation died and went back over to rummaging through the drawer of the desk.

Hermione retreated to the safety of her booth and sat down ready to start looking over the files. She slouched. How was she meant to work for him, and share an office with him? She expected an old geezer, or a stern older lady like Professor McGonagall, or even Harry.

Not a young man.

Especially not an _attractive_ young man.

"Granger?" Ben had poked his head through the opening to her booth.

"Weasley," she corrected quickly.

"Right. You missed one," he tossed another file onto the pile of boxes and flashed her a smile before disappearing around the corner again.

Hermione grunted. It would take her weeks to sort the files and find details which were actually important. At least she was interested in the topic at hand. All she had learned thus far from Harry and her time working in the department was that Voldemort had last been traced to Germany. Or, rather, traces of him previously being in Hamburg had been found. No reports of actual sightings had been made for years, the last one being a year after he disappeared not far from Albania. Williamson had been furious after the traces were found. 'How could he possibly be in a city such as Hamburg and not be seen by a single person?!' His yelling had apparently been heard all the way up to the fourth floor. After the Hamburg report, there had been nothing. Not a whisper, not a peep. All the reports from then on had been mere speculation.

It was ironic really, after the year of running from him and his Death Eaters, Voldemort was now the one on the run from them.

Hermione looked sadly at the boxes. There probably wasn't even enough _useful_ information to fill one box, yet alone 6. If only there was a charm that could sort through them for her...

An idea sprung to mind that would have made her muggle parents proud. She got up and left the booth and the boxes, and headed back out onto the staff floor.

"Penrose?" Hermione knocked on the door as she entered their Investigation Office. Euan Penrose, the Head of the Investigation Office, now reported directly to her, followed by Ben.

"Mrs. Weasley! First day?" He greeted happily. She was sure that she'd never get used to being called 'Mrs. Weasley'.

"Yes! I was just wondering; do you have any reports or summaries on the You-Know-Who case?" She asked, getting straight to business.

"Of course, didn't Williamson leave you the files?"

"Yes he did, but I was hoping for a summary of the files, one that would be quicker to get through to start with to catch me up on where we're at?"

"I'll see what I can come up with. I can get one to you in a few hours?" He said almost nervously.

"Perfect. Thanks Euan."

Feeling smug, she made her way back to the office to start the slow process of manually sorting the files. As she entered, Ben was busy at work. He had levitated the desk, and a small dustpan and broom was sweeping underneath it. Meanwhile, she immediately noticed the curtains had changed, the desk had been transfigured into a larger one and the bookshelves lining the side wall had been rearranged. What used to be floral printed beige curtains had changed to dark, velvet green ones, blocking out most of the sunlight.

"Reorganising?" she asked timidly as he turned to her. She was mildly impressed by the speed at which he had made the changes. Levitating and moving objects was one thing, but the sorting, and transfiguring were things she was sure Ron and Harry wouldn't have been able to do.

"Yes, this place is filthy," he scowled as he glanced at the dustpan. "And there was absolutely no order to the books, the décor was foul..."

She took another look at the books and instead of them being sorted by author, they had been rearranged by subject. That was a change she could appreciate.

"Don't worry, I left your things as they were," he said quickly, seeming to read her mind.

"Thanks," Hermione said. "I like your new desk."

"Yes, there wasn't much space in the old one. And Williamson had doodled all over it, like a schoolchild," he said, the scowl still on his face. It was strange, even with an expression of disgust he still looked very attractive.

"How rude of him," she commented, noticing his scowl turn into a smile, before returning to her booth.

 

* * *

 

Hermione thought that the meeting went well. Along with herself, Ben and Kingsley, there were nine in attendance. There was Lewis Caldwell, the Head of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. Alice Dorsey, the Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures (and Hermione's previous superior). Iris Paterson, the Head of the Department for International Magical Cooperation. Percy Weasley, who had recently been promoted to the Head of the Department of Magical Transportation. Hamish Ainsworth, the Head of Magical Games and Sports. And finally, Saul Croaker, Head of the Department of Mysteries. They were an odd bunch, and initially seemed a bit unsure of the appointment of the mysterious Ben Jenkins to what was arguably the most important department, however come the end of the meeting, they all acted as old friends. It unsettled Hermione; she had never been the most sociable, and it had always taken her a while to become friendly with others, as was the case with Ron and Harry. However, Ben seemed the opposite - a few jokes later, and everybody loved him. She had always thought that at the top it was merit that got you there, and she had always felt that that had been the case with her, but now she wasn't so sure. What if she had only been appointed because of her friendship with Harry Potter? Or only appointed due to her past correlation with Lord Voldemort? Weren't her knowledge and skills the most important things? Hadn't she proven herself capable time and time again?

"Do you know when you'll be officially starting?" Hermione asked Ben once they arrived back in their own office after the meeting.

"Well, since the meeting went well, my appointment will be announced in the Daily Prophet tomorrow, and I'll be starting immediately. So technically, I start now," Ben said with a smile.

"Congratulations then, boss," Hermione mockingly saluted.

"Why, thank you."

A knock on the doorway interrupted their conversation.

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, and rushed over to give him a hug. "Good to see you!"

"I wasn't sure if you'd forgive me if I didn't say hello on your first day in the job," Harry laughed. "Settling in alright then?"

"Yes, just finished a meeting with the rest of the Department Heads, it went well. Also, let me introduce you to Ben Jenkins, he's just been appointed as the head of the Department," Hermione said with a smile.

"Mr. Potter, it's an absolute pleasure!" Ben made his way over to the door and extended a hand to shake Harry's.

Harry however, did not respond. As soon as he looked at Ben, his smile slowly faded from his face. He paled as if he had seen a ghost. After a moment passed, Ben slowly lowered his hand.

"Harry?" Hermione asked with a tone of concern. "Are you alright?"

Harry's expression had turned into a frown. "What? Oh – oh, yes, I'm fine," he stammered feebly. "Head of Department? That – that's great. Hermione, I – I didn't just come to say hello, would you mind helping me out for a moment? In the Auror's office?"

"Yes, of course," Hermione said while Harry quickly retreated from the office. She shrugged at Ben who looked very confused, and hurried out after Harry.

Once out in the corridor, Harry took Hermione's hand and pulled her towards his office in a hurry.

"Harry? What's wrong, why are we hurrying?"

Harry didn't reply. He pulled her into his office, made sure no one was around the door, and briskly pulled the door shut. Hermione took a seat while Harry remained on his feet and began pacing past the door.

"Harry...?"

"That man, Ben, was that his name?"

Hermione nodded.

"Do you know who he looks like?"

"...no?"

"So you didn't recognise him? At all?"

"No? Where are you going with this, Harry?"

"He looks like-" he broke off and massaged his temples. "He looks _just_ like Voldemort."

If Hermione had had a drink, she would have spat it out. She had to take in his words for a moment. "Are... are you alright Harry?"

" _He's a spitting image of him Hermione!_ " Harry yelled.

"I don't know where this is coming from, Harry. He looks perfectly normal, nothing like him at all!"

"No, no... you're misunderstanding me," Harry said angrily. "He looks just like Voldemort _when he was young._ I forget that you wouldn't have known. In our second year, when I saw him... he looks just like Tom Riddle. Just... a little older. He looks like the memories that Dumbledore showed me in sixth year, you know the ones when he was trying to get the cup from that old woman?"

Hermione let out a nervous laugh. "You can't – you can't be serious Harry?"

" _Do I look like I'm joking?!_ "

"But – but you saw those memories _years_ ago! You could just be confused! After hunting him down these seven years, of course it would have gotten to you," Hermione rationalised. "It's probably just a coincidence even if he does look a bit like Tom Riddle."

"You think I could ever forget? _After all he put me through?!_ " Harry yelled. "It's not just a coincidence! There's _no way_ it could be. Think about it! What if that's why no one has heard from him or seen him in so long? Because he doesn't look like he used to!"

"Alright," she stared slowly, raising her hands submissively, "hypothetically, even _if_ you're right and he has altered his appearance – which I don't think you are – don't you think I would have recognised a glamour? Or Kingsley? It can't possibly be polyjuice potion, that wouldn't act on age. If he had taken unicorn's blood or had somehow found another Philosopher's stone, he'd still look old and evil. The parts of his soul were _destroyed_ , he can't have split it further. There's no way to reverse age, or soul destruction, Harry. There's just _no way_ ," Hermione said, taking a deep breath at the end of her rant.

"Well... there must be. Maybe I can ask Ginny, she'd recognise him," Harry thought out loud.

"Don't _tell_ Ginny. If you bring her in and say 'point out Voldemort', of course she'll think she recognises him, because you would have already put the idea there yourself. Bring her in and accidentally bump into him. She'd be sure to tell you if she had suspicions," Hermione suggested.

"Why would the universe be so cruel to make _two_ of him?" Harry pondered.

"Surely someone else would have noticed if he looks so much like Tom Riddle. You weren't the only one to have seen him. Don't you think they would have mentioned the resemblance?" Hermione asked.

"Maybe... maybe since it had been so long, and they didn't think much of him at the time... maybe they just didn't put it together..."

Hermione sighed. "I really think you should let this go Harry. He's going to be your boss now too, you can't treat him differently because of who he _might_ look like. It's his job to look for Voldemort too now, remember?"

"Well... at least check him out," Harry said. "Look into his background. See if it stands."

"I'm sure if it's been good enough for Kingsley, it'll be good enough for me," Hermione commented.

"But... it's perfect. Who would possibly think to look for him in the Ministry Department that's looking for him? No one!" Harry continued.

"But _you_ work here. Why on earth would _Voldemort_ want to work for the Ministry of Magic, with you of all people? Please Harry, _please_ let it go," Hermione pleaded. "For your own sake. I'll look into him as much as I can, if it will make you feel better."

"Thanks Hermione," Harry said sadly.

"That's alright," she rose from her seat and gave him another light hug. "He won't stay gone forever, don't worry."

"Give _Ben_ my apologies, will you? Busy day and all..."

"Of course," Hermione said. "I'll see you later."

As she made her way back to her own office, her mind ran wild. It had to be a coincidence. It just had to be. Voldemort had never shown any interest in working for the Ministry, why would he start now, when it was more dangerous for him than ever? No, it had to be a coincidence.

"Strange fellow, isn't he?" Ben looked at her curiously as she passed through the office again.

"He's just been having some stressful days lately, I'm sure you can understand," Hermione said quickly, trying to analyse his features without staring too much. Honestly, where _had_ that idea come from? The man looked nothing like Voldemort! Maybe except for his height... and possibly his posture...

"Yes of course, what it must be like, being the Boy Who Lived," Ben smiled.

 _His teeth._ Although they were much cleaner than Hermione could remember, his teeth looked... almost identical to the teeth that had belonged to Lord Voldemort.

_Maybe Harry wasn't completely insane..._

"Are you alright, Granger?" Ben asked after a pause. Hermione _had_ been staring.

"Yes, yes, fine. And it's Weasley," she frowned.

"Right you are.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there, it is I, the author of this monstrosity. To those of you who may be reading this (if there are any of you, warmest welcomes to my trash heap), I would like to let you know that I’m currently in the midst of re-writing/touching this story up. So, if you come across a chapter or two and it doesn’t quite flow very well, that might be why!  
> Also, I invite you to join me over on tumblr! You can find me at the same username as here, and you can ask me shit, occasionally I post stuff. It’s a nice place…


	2. Elliot Selwyn

Upon arriving for her second day on the job, Hermione's nerves were high on alert.

It was the day in which Ben would be introduced to the Department staff as Head, and she was particularly interested to see if anyone other than Harry noticed his resemblance to a certain dark wizard. Since his disappearance, the world still feared his name. However, one reporter was braver than the rest and decided to publish a book - a biography of sorts - of Lord Voldemort.

Hermione had let out a multitude of indignant shrieks the night before as she sifted through the work of Rita Skeeter.

As much as it pained her to admit, she was grateful for the awful woman's book. She'd included a blurry old school photo of Tom Riddle early on in chapter four, so she was very curious indeed to see if any of the Ministry-employed fanatics recognised him. Unlike Harry and Ginny, Hermione had never actually _seen_ Tom Riddle. But after finding the photo, she had to admit - Harry was not wrong. Ben _did_ look a fair bit like the blurry school boy.

She decided it would be for the best to keep mum about Harry's suspicions for the moment. Knowing Ron, he'd panic unnecessarily, and that was certainly something she didn't want to deal with, not with the added pressures of a new job. She didn't need him fuelling the fire, though she was certain that Harry would tell Ron himself soon enough. Resigning from his position as an Auror hadn't come between him and Harry, the two barely managing to go a week without catching up.

It was best she make the most of the calm while she had it.

"Morning, Granger!" Ben greeted cheerily as she entered the office bright and early.

She halted in the doorway and narrowed her eyes. He _had_ to be doing it on purpose, there was no way someone could be so forgetful.

He tilted his head questioningly before he eventually figured it out. "Oh, right - Weasley - sorry."

"Good morning," she replied at last before she dumped her things on her desk in her booth.

"How's it coming? Anything of value in those boxes?" Ben asked, having followed her over.

"In all honesty, no. Most of it's rubbish. But I have this," she handed over the report that Penrose had given her the previous night. Ben's eyes scanned the document quickly.

"No wonder Williamson lost his mind," he mumbled once he had finished reading. He scrunched up the parchment in his hand and threw it into the small waste paper basket in the corner. "This tells me that you all have no idea what you're doing any more."

Hermione's eyebrows shot up. "I know it's not _ideal_ , but it's all that we have. The trail is like... chasing a ghost."

"'Not ideal'" Ben scoffed. "That's putting it all lightly. There are no leads, not a single one. The department has let it run completely cold."

"How would _you_ suggest we fix it then?" Hermione asked before she could stop herself.

"We need to look into groups of power. We know he was a half-blood, yes? Have we looked into muggle organisations? Any dictators on the rise? It may not be his MO to work with muggles, but maybe he's desperate. Like Grindelwald and Hitler? And - _we need the Malfoy's to talk._ I know you've all tried, and I know they think they've helped, but maybe you're not asking the right questions," Ben ranted. " _So,_ I want you to get started, go out there with your Aurors, and find me something useful."

"You - you want me on the field?" Hermione stuttered.

It wasn't usual for Heads or Deputy Heads to be out on the field.

"Of course I want you on the field! Where else would you be?"

"I just - I just thought there would be meetings, and paperwork, and such."

"What do you think they signed me on for?" He asked as though it were obvious. "I need eyes and ears out of the office, that's where you come in."

"The department has never been run that way-"

"And how much success have we seen lately?" he cut her off. "No, now that I'm in charge, things will be changing."

Hermione exhaled, seeing that she wasn't going to win the argument. "Alright."

"Good. Set it up with Potter," he instructed before leaving her desk.

Hermione frowned. She hadn't taken up the position to be dictated to. She wanted to be treated like an equal, or a partner. As Deputy Head, that's how it _should_ be. They should be evening out the workload, and instead he just wanted rid of her.

Maybe Harry _was_ onto something.

Hermione snuck out of the office with her irritation in tow and headed for the Auror's office.

"Hello Harry," she greeted when she found him at his desk.

"Hullo," he mumbled, taking a moment to draw his eyes off of his papers. "I did as you suggested, I 'forgot' my lunch at home today and Ginny's stopping by with it before noon."

"Why wouldn't she just owl it to you?"

"Because I want to see her," Harry said with a sideways smile. "Now, what can I do for you?"

"The new boss wants me out with you. He wants us to look closer into muggle organisations _and_ speak to the Malfoy's again. _I know_ ," she added seeing Harry roll his eyes. "I know it's a waste of time, but I couldn't tell him that, he _insisted._ In all honesty, I'm a little scared of going back into the office without any good news."

"Is that right?" Harry asked, eyes narrowing suspiciously. "What's he like anyway? Hasn't dropped any hints about taking over the wizarding world?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Hermione scolded with a smile.

"But seriously, have you looked into him yet?"

"No, I haven't had the chance. When I got in this morning he all but shooed me from the office to head out and see the Malfoys."

"Alright, I'll set you up with an interview with Lucius or Narcissa. I'm sure your visit will make their day," Harry laughed.

"Yes, I'm sure," Hermione agreed sarcastically.

Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy had been in Azkaban ever since they had been tracked down after the battle. They weren't the only ones; Yaxley, Mulciber, Rosier and Rowle all shared their fate, along with close to thirty others. They had all been questioned thoroughly and constantly over the years, and yet they hadn't managed to uncover any information regarding Voldemort's whereabouts.

It seemed their master hadn't been very open with them about his future plans.

"Can we squeeze it in today, by any chance?" Hermione requested hopefully.

"I'll try my best, but it'll have to be in the afternoon after the department meeting," Harry said.

"That works for me, thanks. Will you be joining me?"

"Probably not, sorry, I'll send another Auror with you though. Someone has to hold down the fort here."

"Perfect," Hermione said, smiling appreciatively. "Thanks, Harry."

She averted her gaze as she went back to her desk, sure that Ben was frowning at her. He probably expected her to immediately barge her way down to Azkaban and demand to see the prisoners.

But no, that wasn't Hermione, she was not rash. She would plan her questions, organise them in the most informative manner and go in knowing exactly how the interview would play out. As such, her morning was spent locating the previous interview information from her boxes of files and writing out a foot-long piece of parchment filled with questions. She didn't want to repeat useless questions that the Malfoy's had already been asked. In her opinion, they had already been asked everything in every possible word combination, but to keep Ben happy, she racked her brain to come up with anything that was even _almost_ new.

A few hours deep into her study, there was a knock on the door.

"Hermione!" The red-headed woman greeted happily. she crossed the office in a jog and wrapped her arms around her. "Good to see you!"

"Ginny," she greeted, hoping her surprise was believable. "What brings you in?"

"Harry forgot his lunch, and _insisted_ that I bring it over. Wouldn't take no for an answer, actually," she said, her eyebrows drawing together. "Plus, I wanted to see you and see how the new job is going."

"Well, here I am. It's going well, still settling in and trying to get up to date with everything that the office has found over the years. How's James doing?"

"As boisterous as ever, he'll be walking soon, I expect," she said proudly, before she closed in. "But I didn't just come to check up on you. I also wanted to share some news with you."

She paused for effect. "I'm pregnant again!"

"Oh Merlin!" With James just about to turn one, Hermione was genuinely surprised. "That's wonderful, I'm so happy for you! Two under the age of two? You poor thing!"

"Yes, you should have seen Harry's face when I told him. It's good though, we want James to have siblings. But we didn't exactly expect it so soon..."

"Have you told Ron?"

"Not yet, so don't tell him before we do. I was hoping we could do a dinner this weekend? Saturday night at our place?"

"Sounds great! I'll tell Ron not to make any plans," Hermione said with a smile. "How far are you then?"

"Two months, so there will be plenty of time for Harry to get used to the idea," Ginny said with a laugh, before she stretched to peer over the top of Hermione's half wall. "So, Harry said you have a new boss? I saw someone sitting at the desk when I came in."

"Oh, yes," Hermione replied as her pulse spiked, trying to sound as casual as possible. "Let me introduce you."

Hermione quickly dashed around Ginny into the main office. "Ben?"

"Granger?" He answered without looking up from his papers.

"I'd like to introduce you to Ginny, Ginny Potter," she said, ignoring the anger over her name. Once she got to the name 'Potter', his head shot up.

"Oh," he rose to his feet quickly and stepped around the table. "Lovely to meet you, Ben Jenkins," he extended a hand to shake Ginny's.

She took his hand, though her eyebrows were furrowed. "I'm sorry, have we met before? You seem... familiar," she said in an unusually small voice.

"I doubt it, I would most definitely remember if I'd met someone as beautiful as you before," he said, flashing his teeth in a flirtatious smile.

Ginny's eyes widened at his words. "I - Oh -" Ginny blushed lightly as she reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear.

Hermione laughed nervously.

"Now that we've all been introduced, you probably shouldn't let your _husband_ starve," Hermine said, gesturing to the lunch bag in Ginny's hand.

"Oh, right, nice to meet you," Ginny smiled a small smile at Ben and exited the office with Hermione. "Um, good catch up, however brief. See you Saturday evening?"

"Wouldn't miss it."

Ginny waved and headed down the hall towards Harry's office. Hermione was dying to follow her and see what she thought, she clearly had recognised him to at least some extent. But, sure that Harry would quiz her himself and let her know later, she sighed and ducked back into the office.

"Your sister-in-law? She must be, with that hair," Ben asked, sitting back down at his desk.

"Yes," she said happily, throwing in, "she and Harry are very happy together."

"Shame," Ben said, giving Hermione a smirk.

Hermione's mouth popped open involuntarily. "That's so inappropriate," she said at once. "Isn't there a Mrs. Jenkins to consider?"

"Don't be such a prude, Granger," he said with a grin. "And no, there is not."

"You know that it's Weasley!"

Ben laughed.

"You _are_ doing it on purpose, aren't you?" She demanded.

"You're very easy to wind up, you know. Your nose goes all pink."

She shook head. "Insufferable," she breathed, and retreated to the safety of her desk.

 

* * *

 

Hermione scrunched up her nose as she walked through the main corridor of the offices of Azkaban.

It stunk.

She didn't know what they were feeding the inmates, but it smelled strongly of dead fish.

She was accompanied by an Auror by the name of David Tremlett, who she hadn't met beforehand, but apparently, he was related to a member of the Weird Sisters. According to Harry, he had some experience with interviewing the Malfoys, a fact she was grateful for.

"Now don't be too surprised by their appearances, personal hygiene is at a much lower standard here than it is in Malfoy Manor," David commented with a laugh.

He led her all the way to the end of the corridor to a large metal door which was guarded by a large man. They showed their identification and after signing in and leaving their belongings and wands by the door, they were let in. The small room they entered was an entrance room of sorts, leading to another large metal door. There was a buzz, and a click of the door unlocking. David lead the way, and held the door open for Hermione.

As she entered the room, her eyes immediately met with those belonging to Lucius Malfoy, though he was on the other side of a wall of thick metal bars. He no longer looked like the proud man she remembered.

Most notably, his hair had been shaved off.

If she hadn't known it was Lucius, she'd never have guessed. He was thinner and looked exhausted, as though he was slowly wasting away.

The second thing she noticed was how insanely cold it was in the room. She felt a shiver, one which she immediately recognised.

There must have been a dementor through the door on Lucius' side of the room.

"Mr. Malfoy," she greeted as she took her seat at a desk that had been set up in front of the wall of bars.

He responded with a mere nod, and Hermione wasn't sure whether he recognised her or not.

"As I am sure you are aware, we are here to conduct an interview regarding your knowledge on the whereabouts of the wizard widely known as 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named," she stated formally. She had been instructed not to use Voldemort's name - apparently the Malfoys were still rather sensitive to it.

"What more could you possibly have to ask?" He replied, in a hoarse voice that sounded nothing like she remembered, staring down at the table. "I've told you people everything I know, I _swear._ "

"We aren't concerned about your answers, Mr. Malfoy. We're concerned about our previous questions," she said comfortingly, in an attempt to reassure the man. Beside her, David was hand writing notes on their conversation. "I would like to begin, if that is alright with you."

He gestured impatiently. "Hurry up then."

"In the time before your imprisonment, and after the Battle of Hogwarts, did you have _any_ form of contact with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

"No."

"None whatsoever?"

"None."

"Before the Battle of Hogwarts, had He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named given any indication of what was next on his agenda, after the killing of Harry Potter?"

"Expansion. He wanted to move to through Europe."

"Do you know where he wanted to start?"

"France, Belgium, Germany..."

"Did he ever mention leaving his followers? Working on his own for a while?"

"He spent most of his time alone. I don't know, he was private. He didn't share much with me personally. Our family lost its trust after the boy escaped..."

"Do you know of anyone else he might have trusted this information with?"

"Severus is dead... Bellatrix is dead... His most trusted are either dead or in here. You've surely already asked the others."

"Are there any followers that you know of who are still free?"

"I've told you people this before."

"Please, Mr. Malfoy."

He looked up and met her eyes. The exhaustion and lack of life in them was chilling.

"You've found Yaxley?"

Hermione nodded.

"You've found Rosier?"

She nodded again.

"I don't know what to tell you. All of the inner circle are dead or here."

"Are there any outside of the inner circle? Any who he might have come to trust over the last few years?"

Lucius pursed his lips thoughtfully and looked away.

"Mr. Malfoy?"

"There... there might be one."

She straightened.

"You won't arrest him? He was only a boy at the time of the Battle. He didn't do anything wrong..."

"Who was only a boy?"

"The Selwyn boy. Jack's son. Edward? No - Elliot," he said nervously. "As I said, he was only a boy at the time, a few years younger than Draco, I believe? But he was an up and comer. He was going to be marked when he came of age. Only a boy... but eager. He desperately wanted to be like his father. Jack brought him along to a few meetings. He might know something?"

Hermione sat up straighter, excited that she had found _something_ even if it turned out to be nothing.

"Do you know where we might find him?"

Malfoy stared at her for a moment. "I've been here _seven years!_ How would I know what became of him?"

"My apologies," Hermione quickly gushed, realising her mistake. "Before we go, I have one more. The last time you saw He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named... what did he look like?"

"'What did he look like'?" Malfoy asked incredulously. "Has someone attacked you with a memory charm recently?"

"Answer the question, Mr. Malfoy."

"He looked normal - well... as normal as he could look without a nose, bald, red eyes."

"Thank you for your time Mr. Malfoy," Hemione said, and signalled to the guard behind the bars. Malfoy was pulled up by his guard and shoved back through the small door he must have come in through.

"What was with the last question?" David asked once they were out of the first door.

"Just following a hunch," she answered quickly. "Can you do me a favour, and remove that question from the manuscript?"

"You wouldn't care to enlighten me as to why?" When Hermione shook her head in response, he continued, "then I'm not at liberty to do any such thing. That would be a crime, you of all people should know that, _boss._ "

"Will you at least forget that I asked you to remove it?"

"That I can do," David laughed.

By the time she got back to her office, Hermione was exhausted. She was beyond relieved to see that the office was empty, assuming that Ben must have gone home. She took out her copy of the manuscript of the interview that David had given her, and highlighted the key points about Elliot Selwyn. Surely, she wouldn't be so lucky that her first lead would be useful, but it was still nice to remain hopeful. She placed it in the centre of his desk so that he couldn't possibly miss it.

She went to leave, but quickly decided that Harry wouldn't forgive her in a hurry for letting such an opportunity go to waste.

Quickly making sure that no one was out in the corridor, she poked through the papers that Ben had on his desk. They all seemed quite mundane - induction forms, employee information, safety checklists. Focusing on how disappointed Harry would have been if she had stopped nosing there, she took out her wand and unlocked the first drawer. Quills, spare pieces of parchment, and - a change of socks?

_Rather strange things to be keeping in a locked drawer,_ she thought to herself.

She quickly closed it and locked it again, and moved onto the next drawer. More forms.

So, many, forms.

She stifled through them quickly until she came across a photograph. It was bewitched, and the scenery was moving but there wasn't anyone in the photo. It was just a nice picture of a tree in a forest. _Strange._

_But not incriminating._

She closed the drawer and re-locked it with her wand. Really, it was silly. What did she think she find in his drawers?

"Having a nice time?"

Hermione jumped about a foot in the air as his baritone voice sounded through the office. There stood Ben, leaning on the door frame on one arm, one eyebrow cocked.

"I - I thought you'd gone home?" she said in a highly pitched voice once she had recovered from her initial fright.

"Nope," he said slowly, popping the 'p'.

"I'm sorry, I just-"

"Yes?"

"Well I wanted to see-"

"Do tell?"

"I'm sorry," she looked down at her feet. She hadn't felt this way since Hogwarts, like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar.

"Find anything interesting?"

"No," she said in a small voice. "Except a pair of socks... why do you keep a pair of socks locked in a drawer?"

"For rainy days," he replied, not looking amused. "And I meant today, with Malfoy."

"Oh! Here," she handed him the manuscript of the interview.

His eyes quickly scanned the parchment, going over the spot that she had highlighted multiple times. He was still stood in the doorway, preventing her from leaving.

"Good," he said at last, his expression blank. "Why did you ask what he looked like?"

_Damn._ The one question she wanted to avoid.

"Just a hunch. It's been years since he's been seen, maybe he doesn't look the same," she said as innocently as she could manage.

He looked at her skeptically. "It's possible," he said thoughtfully after a moment. "Well, we'll go and visit this Selwyn kid tomorrow, it's too late to think about now. Wear something warm," he handed her back the parchment and went to exit the office.

"W-wait, _we_?" she called.

"Yes, Granger, _we_ ," he said with a smirk and disappeared around the corner into the corridor.

" _It's Weasley!_ "

 

* * *

 

The next afternoon, Hermione hurried through the atrium of the Ministry behind Ben. Her shorter legs were no match for his long ones, and she almost had to jog to keep up.  They were headed into a muggle town in Surrey called Guildford where Elliot Selwyn had been living for the last three years. Unfortunately, they couldn't Floo to his cottage and therefore, the only option left was apparating. The wards around the Ministry prevented their apparition, so they had to make their way around near the visitor's entrance to the apparition point, where the wards were lifted.

Hermione had to catch her breath as she reached the large wooden doors, which Ben politely held open for her and the few employees behind her.

"What about all of your paperwork? Don't you trust me to do this alone?" Hermione asked. She had been nagging him all morning to let her go alone, but he just wouldn't give. Hermione couldn't help but think like her friend when he'd said that he wanted to come with her to interview Selwyn.

What if Harry _was_ right and he _was_ Voldemort? What if she was walking straight into a trap?

Ben raised his eyebrows at her. "It's not that I don't trust _you,_ it's that I don't trust the other Aurors. They've found nothing in years, I'm not letting them ruin the first almost-lead we've found," he explained as they reached the side of the building.

_That's_ _probably_ _fair_ , she thought to herself.

"Here, take my arm," he instructed, poking his elbow out to the side like a chicken wing.

"I _can_ apparate myself, you know," she said indignantly.

"I should certainly hope so. But do _you_ know Selwyn's exact address? I don't fancy us arriving on opposite sides of town, Guildford isn't a small place. Now take my arm."

Rolling her eyes, Hermione gently placed her hand onto his forearm. Ben stared at her for a moment before pulling her arm upwards, and wrapping his arm properly around hers. Before she could protest, he had already pulled them into the pressure of apparition.

Hermione had never had an issue with apparition, although like many others, she did find it uncomfortable. But as she took in her new surroundings, she noticed that side along apparating with Ben wasn't nearly as bad as she was expecting. It felt like she was being gently guided through space rather than the usual ripping through it.

"See, that wasn't so bad," Ben commented as if reading her thoughts, looking over at the cottage. Her nerves calmed a bit as she took in the pleasant yard that they had arrived in. It looked nothing like the home of a suspected Death Eater, more like a quaint home of a grandmother. It was a small cottage on the edge of town with a beautiful flowering garden out the front, lined by a cute, white fence.

"After you," she said, and Ben happily lead the way to the front door.

"Now, let _me_ do the questioning, will you? And make sure to record every detail," Ben said quickly as he rose his fist to knock on the door. She rolled her eyes, but nodded anyway.

It took a few knocks before the door was answered. The man who opened the door was young, weedy and blond - it must have been Selwyn.

"Elliot Selwyn?" Ben asked.

"Yeah?"

"My name is Ben Jenkins and this is Hermione Weasley, we're from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. We'd like to ask you a few questions if that's alright?" Ben spoke like he'd done it many times before. It was reassuring to know that he did know her name.

"I don't know if that's -"

"With all due respect, Mr. Selwyn, we can do this now, easy in your own home, or we can do it later at the Ministry. The choice is yours."

Selwyn's eyes shot between them a few times, as if sizing them up. "Alright," he said at last. "Come in."

He led them into the dining room of the cottage. It was much bigger from the inside, a magical enhancement surely, however it still looked like the home of an old woman rather than a single young man.

He took a seat at the table, and gestured for Ben and Hermione to join him. They took the seats on the opposite side, and Hermione brought out her quill, which she quickly charmed to write down all that was said.

"So, what's this about?" Selwyn asked, looking between the two.

Ben didn't respond. He reached his hand into his jacket pocket and brought out a small brown vial which he placed in the centre of the table before pushing it toward Selwyn.

"Ben..." Hermione said warningly. She knew exactly what was in the vial - she'd used veritaserum a number of times over the past year when interviewing suspects.

Its use was strictly restricted to in the questioning rooms of the Ministry.

Ben glanced at Hermione quickly out of the corner of his eye and nodded toward the vial. "Mr. Selwyn, I'd like for you to drink the potion before we begin."

Selwyn stared at the vial with wide eyes. "Look, if I'd known you were going to bring this out on me, I would have said-"

"Mr. Selwyn, the same offer stands. We can either do this here, or we can do this in a cell at the Ministry."

Selwyn looked panicked, turning toward Hermione, silently pleading her to help. She turned to Ben with her lips pursed in an attempt to hide her shock, and he in turn ignored her.

Hermione couldn't believe it. If any other Auror attempted using veritaserum outside of the Ministry, they would be sacked on the _spot_. Hell, if _she_ used it, she would have been sacked on the spot.

After seeing that he wasn't getting any help, Selwyn let out a small sound of frustration before picking up the vial, uncorking it and downing it in a single gulp.

"Excellent choice," Ben said, his tone significantly happier. "Now, I'd like to begin by asking whether you know of a wizard known as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

"Course, I do," Selwyn replied immediately. "I don't live under a rock."

Ben ignored his irritated tone. "And have you ever met He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named personally?"

Selwyn glared, a flash of surprise at the question crossing his features. "Yes," he said slowly after a moment.

"When was the last time you had any contact with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

He exhaled angrily and gave a soft groan of protest before he eventually gave his response. "A year ago."

Ben turned to Hermione with the smuggest smile she had ever seen in her life.

Hermione's eyes widened. Her lead _actually_ found something. On her third day of the job, no less.

"And what did he contact you about?" Ben continued.

"He... wanted to give me some news."

"What news?"

"News of his... successes."

"Successes?"

"Events that went according to plan."

Ben frowned. "Tell me everything he told you the last time he contacted you," he rephrased.

Selwyn groaned, unable to avoid the directness of the question. "He said that he'd gained enough support... and that... that he'd..." Selwyn sighed. "And that he'd be returning to the country."

"Merlin," Hermione slipped out, unable to restrain her surprise.

"Is he back now?" Ben continued.

"I don't know, I haven't heard anything since then."

"Where was he when you were last in contact?"

"Antwerp, in Belgium."

"Mr. Selwyn," Hermione interrupted. "What did He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named look like the last time you saw him? How did he get around such a large city without being seen?"

He furrowed his eyebrows. "I... I don't actually know. He was hooded the whole time, and it was dark."

Ben glared at Hermione. "Where did you meet in Antwerp?"

"At the home of a newer follower."

"And do you know the name of this newer follower?"

"Florian something. Everard? ... or Evrard? Something like that."

"When was the last contact you had with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, before you met in Antwerp?"

"About... three years ago? Maybe? And even that was only a letter. We weren't exactly close."

"Do you still have this letter?"

"No. I burnt it after reading it."

"What did the letter say?"

"That he had business in Germany, and we wouldn't be hearing from him for a while."

"'We'?"

Selwyn swore under his breath. "Yes."

"Who is 'we'?"

"Those who have remained loyal and the new recruits, I suppose. I only know two others, not including Florian. I know that there are more, but I have never met any of them. We've been instructed to stay quiet."

"Well, you're doing an excellent job of it now then, aren't you?" Ben smirked.

Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say, as Selwyn took that moment to draw his wand.

" _Bombarda!_ "

The table that they had been sitting at was forced backward in an explosion that forced Ben and Hermione backward off of their chairs. Hermione landed against the wall, a piece of the chair dug painfully into her back. She slowly pushed herself up, and attempted to look through the dust of the explosion for Selwyn. She made out Ben to her side who pushed himself up quickly, and scanned the room. He quickly ran and disappeared from view out of the dining room back toward the front door of the cottage.

Hermione groaned as she rose to her feet, her head stung, and she was sure she was bleeding from where she had collided with the wall. The room was a mess; although the table exploding was relatively small, the pieces of wood scattered all over the room, and had broken picture frames, the light, and destroyed the chairs. A moment later, Ben stormed back into the room.

"He's gone. Apparated probably," he panted.

"Why did you have to taunt him?" Hermione demanded, wincing slightly as she began searching through the rubble for the parchment that she'd recorded the interview on.

"He was going to run anyway, I just... accelerated the process," Ben shrugged.

" _Accio parchment!_ " The parchment flew out from under one of the planks of wood into Hermione's hand. "You're lucky that this is alright. If he'd destroyed this, we'd have nothing to bring to Kingsley."

"We're not showing that to Kingsley," Ben said quickly.

"Are you mad? This is a _lead._ The first solid information we've gotten in _years._ He needs to know."

"We'll tell him the important parts. He certainly doesn't need to know about the veritaserum. We'll tell him the parchment was destroyed." He waved a hand nonchalantly.

Hermione gaped. "B-but that's a felony! We can't withhold information of this caliber from the _Minister for Magic._ "

"What's the point in being at the top if you can't bend a few rules?" He shrugged.

"I can't believe you," she muttered as she brushed past him and made her way back out of the cottage.

"Hermione," he called from behind her as he followed. "Hermione!" He grabbed her arm and stopped her from moving.

"What?" She asked rather rudely.

"You're bleeding. Let me help," he reached out for her head.

"I don't need your help."

"Be quiet," he brought his wand to the gash on her head and quietly said, " _episkey."_

Hermione wouldn't admit it, but she almost immediately felt much better. Instead, she frowned and pulled away from him.

"Now, give me the parchment," he instructed, reaching his hand out expectantly.

Hermione raised her chin defiantly. "No."

"Granger..."

"That'snotmynameanymoreandyouknowit!" She yelled at such a speed that Ben almost missed it.

"Give-me-the-parchment."

"I-said-no."

" _Incendio_ _._ "

The parchment in Hermione's hand lit up in flames, prompting her to drop it immediately, but not before it burned her fingertips.

" _Ow! Have you gone completely mad?! We needed that!_ " She yelled, cradling her hand.

"Yes, we did need it - we needed it to be destroyed," he said smugly. "Alright, we can go back to the Ministry now."

"But what are we meant to tell Kingsley now?!" She demanded.

"That our recordings were destroyed during the explosion, simple."

"But, you're the Head of Law _Enforcement!_ " Hermione exclaimed. "That doesn't give you a free pass!"

"Go on then, _arrest me_ ," he dared. She stared him down for a moment, pursing her lips angrily. Eventually, she huffed before turning away and apparating to Ministry without another word.

 

* * *

 

Needless to say, Kingsley wasn't happy about the loss of information. However, he was reasonable, and allowed them to use the Ministry pensieve to reconstruct the lost document. Unsurprisingly, Ben insisted on doing the work himself, leaving Hermione to inform Harry and the Auror office of the need to find Selwyn, and to help put the case together.

Harry immediately concluded that Ben not allowing Hermione to help construct the manuscript was a plan of Voldemort's. 'It's the perfect chance to change Selwyn's answers and get away with it', he'd insisted.

Hermione hardly had it in her to argue.

She couldn't bring herself to tell Harry about the veritaserum - what if he reported Ben in a paranoid attempt to be rid of him? There was no way that Hermione wouldn't be dragged into the matter, and her job would most definitely be put on the line.

No, there was nothing else to be done but agree absentmindedly to Harry's ramblings.

The rest of the week went by rather quickly - by Friday, the Department was buzzing in a way that Hermione had never seen it. The lead provided by Selwyn seemed to have given everyone a motivation boost, and for once, Harry had a task that had _volunteers._ Although they hadn't yet found any signs of Selwyn, everyone was still remaining positive.

After all, one young man certainly couldn't be as difficult as Lord Voldemort to find, could he?

Hermione was relieved when Saturday finally came. It had been a long week, even though it was only the first of many. She found it quite calming to be around Ron, who didn't care too much for the Auror politics these days. It was nice to be able to put work to the back of her mind for a while.

" _Hermione!_ " Ginny engulfed Hermione in a tight hug as she answered her front door come Saturday evening. "And Ron," she hugged her brother a little less enthusiastically. "Good to see you! Come in, come in."

Ginny and Harry had moved into a quaint house not unlike Hermione and Ron's, however theirs was a little further out of town. 'More privacy', Harry had explained.

Hermione couldn't blame him - since the war, his celebrity status had rose even higher (if that were possible) and frequently had strangers attempting to visit his home. After the first handful of uninvited visitors, they had wisely warded the property.

As soon as they entered, Ron went to greet Harry.

"Been alright the last few days?" Ginny asked as soon as Ron left them. "Harry said you've found a lead at work?"

"Yes, we were pretty lucky with it, actually. Malfoy suggested we check out Selwyn's son - he wasn't even of age at the time of the war, and he turned out to be right," Hermione said, trying not to give too many details as she followed Ginny into the kitchen.

"A lead on your third day, we all knew you'd be amazing at the job. Kingsley must be proud of his decision with you," Ginny grinned.

"It was just luck - had anyone else asked Malfoy that specific question, it would have been them."

"But _you_ asked it. So, it's still _your_ lead."

"Actually, it was Ben who suggested we look into speaking to Malfoy again and change our questioning. So really, it's his lead," she said sheepishly.

Ginny looked at her with concern. "Harry mentioned something to me about your new boss. And - and he's right really. I _knew_ I had seen him before, somewhere. He looks - well, he looks a bit like-"

"Voldemort?" Hermione asked before Ginny could finish. She couldn't withhold the scepticism from her voice. When Ginny nodded, Hermione shook her own head. "Did you think that yourself, or did Harry have to give you the idea?"

At that moment, Harry and Ron came back into the room.

"Did I give who what idea?" Harry asked.

"About Ben," Hermione replied irritably.

"Oh."

"No, he didn't! I told you, I knew that I recognised him. I just needed Harry to point out _where_ I recognised him from. It's truly _uncanny_ , Hermione," Ginny said defensively.

"What is?" Asked Ron cluelessly.

Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes. "Harry thinks that our new boss looks like Tom Riddle."

" _What?!_ "

"You didn't mention it?" Harry asked.

"Of course I didn't! I knew you'd overreact," Hermione said to Ron.

"Overreact? _Overreact?!_ If You-Know-Who is hidden in the Ministry, _in the same office as you,_ I think I'm reacting just fine!"

"He's not hidden in the Ministry! It's a coincidence, _that's all._ You're all taking this too far!"

"You said yourself that he didn't let you help put the manuscript of the Selwyn interview together. Why wouldn't he let you help if you were there? He's probably kept something out of the report, something vital to finding him," Harry concluded.

"Harry, _he's the one who suggested we talk to Malfoy in the first place!_ Without him we wouldn't have even had a lead!" Hermione pointed out.

She couldn't tell Harry about the use of the veritaserum, she just _couldn't._

" _Exactly!_ We'd spoken to him a million times before, how did he know we were missing something?"

"Do you know how paranoid you sound? Ben asked all of the questions with Selwyn. If he were trying to keep himself hidden, why would he have tried so hard to get Selwyn to spill the beans? Why wouldn't he have asked pointless questions instead? Besides, the report should be done by Monday, I can look at it straight away and tell you whether he's cut vital information," Hermione argued. " _And_ I looked into him just like you asked yesterday. _He checks out._ 'Benjamin Harvey Jenkins, born 24th December 1978. Attended the National Wizarding Academy of Australia, former Investigation Officer, Stockholm,'" she recited.

"But this is _You-Know-Who_ we're talking about. He easily could've-"

"That's enough!" Ginny interrupted, sounding an awful lot like her mother. "We're here to have a nice dinner, not bicker about You-Know-Who. You can carry on all you like after dinner! Now sit down!"

After all the arguing, they actually did have a nice dinner. It was awkward, and a bit forced at first, but the food was lovely and provided an excellent ice breaker. Mrs. Weasley would have been proud by how Ginny's cooking was coming along.

They were only interrupted by James' crying once, and thankfully, it was after dinner. While Harry left to attend to the infant, the others flocked into the living room. "Now, Ron, when Harry gets back, we have some news to tell you," Ginny said, biting her lip to hide her grin.

"News?"

"Yes."

"What kind of news?"

"Happy news."

"Go on then," he said with a crooked smile.

"Not until Harry gets back!"

"I'm right here," said Harry, who had just appeared in the doorway behind Ginny.

"Oh! Well, alright. Ron... You're going to be an uncle again," she announced. It seemed to take Ron a minute to understand, so she helped out a bit and added, "we're having another baby!"

"Blimey! Congratulations!" Ron got up from the sofa and hugged his sister, and shook Harry's hand. "When's this happening then?"

Ginny laughed. "I'm due in October."

"Wow! Got any names yet? Have you considered 'Ron' for a boy?"

"We're thinking Lily for a girl, and we're still unsure about a boy."

"That wasn't a no!"

 

* * *

 

The night ended up pleasant enough. The conversation of Voldemort _thankfully_ didn't come back up, and talk of the new baby took over the night. When they arrived back home and hopped into bed, Ron and Hermione stayed awake for quite a while.

"A second baby then," Ron stated eventually.

"Yep. Another miniature Harry to save the world," Hermione laughed.

"...Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"When will it be our turn?"

Hermione sighed. She'd been expecting this question again since they got home. "We've been through this, Ronald."

"Yeah, but not for a while. I thought maybe you might've changed your mind."

"It's just not possible at the moment. I've only just started the job, and I'm _liking_ it. I don't want to lose it yet."

"You wouldn't _lose_ your job. No one could do it better than you, and Kingsley likes you," he reasoned. "Anyway... you're not in this alone, you know. I could stay home with the kids, while you work."

"I'm not sure that your mother would like that idea."

"Why does her opinion matter? You love your job, and you earn more than me. Why wouldn't we do it that way?"

Hermione sighed. Ron had a point; it seemed obvious that if and when they had children, that would be the arrangement. "I need time to settle into work. Give me... I don't know, a year? Then we'll consider children again, alright?" Hermione reasoned slowly.

"Yeah," Ron mumbled as he rolled away from her.

Hermione sighed again, and closed her eyes, willing for sleep to take her. Why couldn't he understand? And since when was Ron such a child lover? Sure, he got along well with James and Teddy, but he certainly wasn't a natural with children. _Probably feeling competitive with Harry, yet again,_ she thought bitterly to herself.

"...Hermione?" Ron asked in a small, tired voice.

"Yes?"

"Harry and Ginny have said... and so did Rita Skeeter... that Tom Riddle was... well... attractive? And charming, I guess?"

"Yeah, they have said that," she replied, unsure where Ron was going.

"Well, it's just... if your new boss looks like him, as you all say... is _he..._ you know, attractive and charming too?"

_Oh._

Hermione rolled over to face Ron again. "Attractiveness and charm are all subjective," she said diplomatically. "Don't worry, he has none of your charm," she reached over and kissed him lightly. Much to Hermione's relief, that seemed to reassure him sufficiently.

As she lay there attempting to find sleep, she couldn't help but think to herself, _you didn't say no._

It took her a long time for sleep to take her, and although she didn't remember it in the morning, her dreams were clouded with a taller, dark haired man.

 

* * *

 

Come Monday morning, Hermione was greeted at the office door by Ben, who was leaning on his desk, clearly awaiting her arrival.

"Granger. We've found Selwyn," he announced immediately, crossing the room to close the door behind her.

"Yeah? He's been brought in then?"

"In a manner of speaking," he said awkwardly. "He's dead."

 


	3. Wizard Carrigan

_"_ _What?_ " Hermione demanded. " _How?_ "

"We're still trying to figure it out. He was found by a group of muggles in an alleyway. We'll be sending more Aurors down there to check it out again today," Ben explained. "There are no obvious causes of death though, we've been looking since he was found yesterday."

"No obvious causes? You think he was murdered then?" The spell that left no trace was the first thing to come to Hermione's mind.

"It's looking that way."

Hermione dumped her bag near her desk and made her way over to Ben's desk, which he had taken a seat at.

"You think someone knew he spoke to us?" She asked, leaning against the wall.

"That would make the most sense."

"How could they have known? Unless he just _told_ them..."

"Maybe someone caught wind of the Aurors looking for him? Didn't want Selwyn to drag the rest of them down with him?" Ben suggested. "Besides, You-Know-Who was a Legilimens, yes?"

"Yeah..." Hermione trailed off, deep in thought. This was bad. She knew exactly what Harry would assume – that on his weekend off, Ben found Selwyn and killed him for talking. After all, how would anyone else have known that he spoke to the Ministry?

She looked at Ben thoughtfully.

It _did_ make sense...

"What do we do now then?" She asked at last, making a conscious effort to maintain her best poker face.

"After we finish looking into the magical signatures at the site of the probable-murder, we'll start looking for Mr. Florian Evrard. Selwyn seems to have been right about his name, I've looked into it, and I have an address. We'll take a trip to Antwerp, and see if we can get him to talk."

"B-but that's in Belgium."

"Certainly is."

"We don't have jurisdiction in Belgium. We'll have to get approval from their Ministry to question a citizen."

"No. They'll pull the case out from under our feet, you know they will," Ben protested at once.

"There's no other way around it! No approval, no interview," Hermione crossed her arms over her chest firmly.

"Fine. We'll visit Mr. Evrard, and then we'll apparate him back to the country, where we can legally question him."

Hermione's mouth popped open involuntarily. "But – that – we can't –"

"Yes, we can, and we will. And _you_ won't be telling anyone that we're planning it," Ben interrupted.

"Ben – I know you're technically my boss now, but this is – I _can't_ let you do that," Hermione managed to say.

Ben exhaled and leaned back into his seat, folding his long arms behind his head. "Yes, you can. All I need is for you to keep your pretty little mouth shut. I will do the rest, and the Belgians will be none-the-wiser."

"They will if we end up arresting him!"

"We will deal with that when it happens," he said quickly. "Besides, things didn't turn out so well for Selwyn, did they? Maybe he'll meet a similar fate and the problem will solve itself."

"You're – you're _insane_ –"

"This department had _nothing_ and was going _nowhere_ by following the rule book. Do you think that You-Know-Who is following the rules? Do you think he's changed his direction, and has taken up a new leaf, living as a law-abiding citizen? No, he knows the Ministry's weaknesses, and he'll be using them to his advantage. He's taken over before, surely _you_ remember?" Ben ranted.

"Of course I remember! And I'm sure that I remember _damn_ well better than you! Weren't you living in Stockholm at the time?" Hermione raised her voice, unable to contain her frustration.

"Yes, I was, which is why I am so astounded that someone such as yourself, who had such a large hand in the fight _against_ You-Know-Who, seems to have forgotten the importance of what we're doing here."

"I could _never_ forget! But there are right and wrong ways to do this!"

"The world is not divided so evenly into right and wrong, Granger."

" _My - name - is - Weasley!_ " She yelled.

"I don't know why you're so adamant to take that foolish family's name," Ben said, breaking out in a laugh.

Hermione huffed before narrowing her eyes. "What would _you_ know about the Weasleys? You've only even met Ginny and Percy."

"I don't need to have met them. They have _quite_ the reputation. I just can't figure out why the great Hermione Granger would want to be known as a Weasley. All of your accomplishments in the war and in the Department for Magical Creatures were made as 'Granger' rather than 'Weasley'."

"That's none of your business," she snapped.

The decision to take Ron's name was not reached lightly. She had the same train of thought as Ben - she'd made so many achievements, and would always be largely known as Hermione Granger. But she'd ended up agreeing to take his name at Ron's insistence. It wasn't worth damaging their relationship all for a name, she had figured.

Ben let out a breath of laughter. "Now, _as I was going to say_ , I don't know whether he's here yet, but can you bring Mr. Potter in? We need to sort out looking at the potential murder scene, and I want you to go with them. You know how to look for magical signatures, yes?"

"Of course I do," she said, raising her chin slightly.

"Good. I need you to make sure they don't miss anything."

Hermione huffed and went back over to her desk, her mind running wild. She didn't want to believe Harry, she couldn't. Yet Selwyn's murder, so soon after they had spoken to him was so very suspicious. He also seemed familiar enough with the Weasley family to insult them, something that no self-respecting Head of Department would do.

Merlin help them, _what if Harry was right?_

She grabbed a piece of parchment and a quill from her desk and left the office to go and find Harry. She made her way down the hall and crossed the Investigation office to the Auror's office and was relieved to see that Harry was there. He was up and exiting the office quickly as she approached looking very determined. It didn't take Hermione long to realise that something was wrong - Harry was angry.

Hermione approached quickly and grabbed his arm before he could pass her in the corridor.

"Harry! Where are you going?" She asked as she pulled him to a stop, trying to keep her voice hushed.

"Let me go, Hermione."

"No," her grip on his arm didn't loosen. "Come with me, back into the office."

Harry looked like he was about to protest, but thought better of it. She pulled him into his office and closed the door quickly behind them.

"Have you heard?" Harry demanded as soon as the door closed.

"Yes."

"Well?" Harry prompted.

"Well what?"

"You can't still not believe me? Hermione, it's _him,_ it _has to be him!_ " Harry insisted, pointing out in the direction of their office.

"I agree that You-Know-Who is probably behind it," she said diplomatically.

"But you still don't think I'm right about him being _Ben_ ," Harry concluded.

Hermione sighed. "I don't know what I think at the moment," she said eventually. "But I _do_ know that we can't rush to conclusions. You can't just storm into his office and accuse him of being You-Know-Who. _Don't look at me like that Harry, we both know that's where you were going!_ "

"I can't just let it go."

"I'm not asking you to. I'm simply asking for you to wait until we can _prove_ something. If you accuse him now, you'll probably be sacked. He's our boss now, remember? He'd deny it, and Kingsley would believe him. Everyone would think you'd lost your mind. Not to mention, if he _is_ You-Know-Who, you'll lose your edge of surprise in that you know," she explained, having to catch her breath after her rant. "Now, he wants us to go to the scene today, look for magical signatures. I'll come with you, we'll comb through absolutely _everything._ If we find anything pointing to him, I'll be right there with you. But until then, we have to be _smart_."

Harry exhaled slowly. He went to say something but stopped himself. He repeated this a few times before finally saying, "Alright."

"Thank you," Hermione said before quickly adding, "and now that you've calmed down, I should tell you that Ben would like to see you in his office."

Harry glared.

"Don't shoot the messenger!"

"Come on then," Harry said grudgingly and opened the door for Hermione.

"Please don't say anything rash," she cautioned as they approached her office door.

Harry rolled his eyes and nodded before stepping in.

"Mr. Potter! Please come in, take a seat," Ben greeted as they entered the office and gestured to the seat opposite his desk. Harry smiled and sat, though it did look forced, while Hermione hovered behind him, again taking up her spot leaning against the wall.

"Now, Mr. Potter - Harry. Can I call you Harry?"

Hermione noticed Harry stiffen at the sound of his first name.

"Sure thing," said Harry, surprising Hermione with how calm he sounded.

"I'm sure you've heard the unfortunate news regarding our lead, young Mr. Selwyn?"

"Hard not to have."

"Yes. Hermione, can you get the report from your desk? Let Harry check it out, there's a few more details on our copies than what you would have seen."

Hermione quickly did as he asked, and handed the parchment over to Harry.

"I'd like you to get a team together and check out the scene. We've had Aurors protecting the scene ever since we heard the news; Ashburn and Smith should be there already. I'd like yourself and Hermione to check it out thoroughly, bring whoever else you need. I don't quite trust most of the other Aurors here just yet, but I'm sure the two of you won't disappoint," he shot Harry a small grin. 

"Certainly," Harry said, smiling stiffly, his eyes not leaving Ben's. "Though, I can assure you that I'm very happy with my team at the moment. We don't miss a _thing_."

Hermione swallowed.

Ben's smile was wide. "No... No, I'm sure you don't."

 

* * *

 

Hermione rolled her foot over a large stone later that afternoon as she stood aside and let Harry inspect. He had always been better at Defence Against the Dark Arts, and after his strenuous Auror training, she still wasn't ashamed to let him do most of the work.

It was a nice change to their time at Hogwarts.

She shivered as a gust of frosty air blew down the alley. Due to the alley being in a muggle neighbourhood leading off of a busy street, Hermione wasn't able to safely cast a warming charm to make the gloomy alley any more bearable.

The other Aurors, Ashburn and Smith, looked bored out of their minds, leaning against the brick wall at the beginning of the alley. Hermione felt rather sorry for them - as young Aurors, she was sure they expected a far more exciting career than guarding crime scenes.

"There's not much here," Harry announced after a long while, as he stopped running his wand over the brick pavement. "There must have been a little bit of a struggle over here by this bin, there's only a trace of a couple of stunners. And then the signatures move through towards the back of the alley and... nothing."

"I assume that's when Selwyn was killed?" Hermione asked.

"Must have been. Unless he was moved here after he was already dead, but I highly doubt that," he replied thoughtfully. "It'd be an odd place to dump a body."

Harry wasn't wrong. Sure, the alleyway was dark, dingy, and damp, but it was also opposite a large, rowdy pub. There were far too many people across the street for them to not notice someone disposing of a body, even in the darkness.

"Maybe he just had some very bad luck, and was mugged by some drunk muggles?" Hermione suggested.

"The report concluded that he wasn't physically injured."

"Oh, that's right."

"The signatures here aren't even slightly familiar either. Definitely not anything I've come across before. Maybe a foreign wizard?" Harry thought out loud before sighing. "I wish I had known how to look for signatures before Voldemort disappeared... it would be good to know what his are like."

"Jenkins will be disappointed," Hermione mumbled.

"Yeah, 'Jenkins'," Harry scoffed, making sure Ashburn and Smith were out of earshot. "Hold on... what if, once we're back in the Ministry, you distract him and keep him out of your office for a while. Then while you're busy, I can swoop in, and check out _his_ signatures. Maybe they'll be a match?"

Hermione withheld a snort. "I highly doubt he'd be so clumsy."

"Maybe he still thinks we don't suspect a thing. I _swear_ he was taunting me this morning, Hermione."

"He's probably just picked up on the fact that you don't like him. Besides, if he _is_ Voldemort, he'd be an expert Legilimens. He'd be able to find out that you suspect him in an instant. Remember how terrible you are at Occlumency?"

"Hey, I've gotten better!"

"Yeah, maybe if you say it often enough, it'll eventually come true," Hermione laughed.

"Like you're any bett-" Harry cut off, and stared into the distance behind Hermione, towards the muggle pub.

"...Harry?" Hermione followed his gaze, seeing a group of drunks out the front smoking. A large man in all black towards the back of the group was glancing towards them out of the corner of his eye. He was quite burly, with curly dark blond hair almost in the form of a mullet.

"I know him," Harry whispered before making his way to the end of the alley to cross the street. When the man saw them approaching, he put down his beer and made his way through the group, before beginning to run.

"Shit, _hurry!_ " Harry yelled, breaking into a run after the man. " _Stay here!_ " He quickly shot to the other Aurors.

Hermione let out a small groan as she followed after him. She wasn't cut out for being on the field anymore, part of the reason she was so happy to take up the position as department Deputy Head. She expected a nice desk job, with minimal running.

Alas, life always had a way of disappointing her.

They followed him down the main street and down a smaller side street, almost getting taken out by the traffic as they crossed. Hermione was struggling. Cardio wasn't, and would never be, her strong suit.

She felt a wave of relief as they rounded the next corner to find that the man had disappeared into thin air, and she could come to a halt.

" _Damn it!_ " Harry yelled in frustration.

"Who - was - that-?" Hermione asked between puffs.

"I don't know exactly, but he's one of Carrigan's."

"Carrigan's?"

"Really?" Harry asked incredulously.

Admittedly, she'd been so singlemindedly focused on the big prize of being the one to catch Lord Voldemort, that Carrigan had been pushed to the very back of her mind.

An upcoming dark wizard, Carrigan had slowly been filling the gap left in Voldemort's absence.

Someone had to keep the Aurors employed, she supposed.

His movements were still quite small, so he still wasn't the departments top priority. However, the whispers were gradually growing louder. Rumour had it that he used to be a young follower of the Dark Lord, and started his own movement after his disappearance. Hermione doubted it though; they had found and questioned close to all of the known followers and found nothing, not to mention the fact that everyone that they had questioned with the name 'Carrigan' came back clean.

Hermione waved a hand dismissively. "Sorry. I've just - been quite - focused elsewhere." She bent over and leaned forwards on her knees to catch her breath.

"Right," Harry raised his eyebrows. "Come on, we should go back to the pub. Maybe he left his friends behind."

Hermione groaned and followed Harry back the way they came.

"I wonder why they'd loiter around a muggle pub," Harry pondered aloud as they approached the entrance.

"Probably to keep an eye on the alley, if they were the ones responsible for Selwyn's death," she suggested.

Harry nodded and held the door open for her. The pub was awfully rowdy for mid-afternoon. A football game was playing on one of the large screens over by the far wall, with a group of drunks yelling over it.

"Would you like a drink?" Harry asked after he had quickly scanned the room.

"We're on a job," Hermione responded with surprise.

"We have to fit in. If we wander around staring everyone down, we'll stick out like sore thumbs."

"I do hope that you're aware that you're possibly the most famous wizard alive," Hermione said sarcastically. "No matter what we do, we'll stick out like sore thumbs."

"Two gins and tonics please," Harry said to the barman, ignoring Hermione's quiet protest.

They took their drinks and found a couple of stools further down the bar, where the drunken yelling wasn't quite so loud.

"So, how are things?" Harry asked as he again looked around the room. "Not work things, I mean."

"Fine," Hermione sighed, following his gaze to a booth filled with an odd looking group in the corner of the room. "Your happy family is making Ron awfully clucky."

Harry laughed. "I've gotten that vibe from him too. Are you not feeling the same way?"

"Not so much. With this new job and everything, I'm just not ready to give it up yet."

"Give it up? Why would you give it -"

"This may be hard for you to comprehend, but as a woman, my options are very limited when it comes to having children. If I take time off, I'm a bad worker, but if I don't and let Ron be the primary carer, I'm a bad mother. There's no winning scenario for me like there is for a father."

Harry was thoughtfully quiet for a moment before he replied. "You know it doesn't matter what anyone else thinks. Whatever way works for you is the right way."

"Yeah..." She said sadly. "But with Ron being from a family like his, and with Mrs. Weasley... I'm just worried about not living up to their expectations."

"And there it is," Harry said taking a sip of his drink, finally finding the root of her insecurities.

Hermione rolled her eyes and took a rather large gulp of her drink. "Hey, those people... They don't exactly look like muggles do they?" She asked in an effort to change the subject, and nodded towards the booth in the corner. The woman facing away from them was wearing a bright purple robe, while the man sitting opposite her had a long auburn beard, curling quite unnaturally.

"No..." Harry trailed off thoughtfully. "Come on."

Hermione got up and followed Harry over towards the booth, feeling the mild effects of her gin and tonic.

"Gerald," Harry greeted the man with the curling beard as they reached the table. "Good to see you again."

Gerald obviously didn't feel the same way, from the way he glared up at Harry. "Mr. Potter," he scowled in return, his voice gruff.

"Oh, _the_ Mr. Potter?" The woman in purple asked excitedly. "Oh, what a pleasure it is to _meet_ you! _Do_ forgive Gerald's manners. I've heard so much about you."

"All good things then, I suppose?" Harry grinned towards the older man.

"No, all terrible things actually, he still holds quite the grudge," the woman continued, speaking for Gerald. "Ingrid," the woman held out her long hand towards Harry. It was hard not to notice her fingernails. Long, pointed, and sparkling in the same shade as her vibrant robes, they were clearly charmed. Harry stared for a bit longer than necessary before shaking her hand.

"You are aware that it is a crime to perform magic in the presence of muggles?" He asked her slowly.

"Oh, you mean _these_?" She twinkled her fingers, making them glitter in the light. "The muggles aren't _nearly_ perceptive enough to notice, of course."

"I think you'd be surprised," Harry frowned.

"What, you gonna 'rrest us?" Gerald rumbled slowly, still glaring at Harry. "Wouldn't be too different than last time, eh?"

"Well that depends, we might be tempted to forget that we saw anything in return for a moment of your time." Harry said, directed more to Ingrid than Gerald.

"Haven't ya already taken up more than your fair share of our time?" Gerald grumbled. Simultaneously, Ingrid spoke excitedly while sliding further down the bench, "Of course! Here, take a seat!"

Harry obliged, shooting a smirk in Gerald's direction, and Hermione followed his lead, taking the seat at the end of the booth.

"How may we help you, loves?" Ingrid smiled sweetly while Gerald rolled his eyes.

"We just missed a man earlier. A wizard. I was hoping you would know who he was," explained Harry.

"I'm 'fraid you'll need to be a bit more specific," said Gerald.

"Large man, light brown hair - almost blond?" Hermione tried.

"A friend of Carrigans," Harry finished.

"Oh... I don't... I'm not sure if... Well... You probably mean Seamus? He's here quite often actually," Ingrid said. "They have a meeting point nearby, Carrigan and his groupies, I mean."

"Hold your tongue!" Shot Gerald, which earned him a stern look from Ingrid.

"You wouldn't happen to mean down the alley across the road, would you?" Hermione asked.

"Why, yes. Do you already know about it?" Ingrid replied.

"A man was found down there yesterday, dead," said Harry.

"Oh my."

"Have you attended any of these meetings?" Harry continued.

"No, we've told you enough," interrupted Gerald. "Now if you don't mind, we'll be leaving." He reached out a hand towards Ingrid to help her up.

"Wait, do you know where we can find this 'Seamus'?" Harry continued as they rose to their feet.

"If you stay around here long enough, I'm sure he'll turn up again," Ingrid said. "It was a _pleasure_ meeting you Mr. Potter. And Miss...?"

"Granger," Hermione said quickly out of reflex. She frowned, realising what she had said.

"Oh, _of course!_ The equally famous Miss Granger! I'm sure we'll see you around," she winked at Harry and followed Gerald towards to exit of the pub.

"That was... interesting," Hermione said once they were alone again. "How did you know that man?"

"I arrested him about a year ago - a minor thug. He'd been selling magical items to muggles, unbreakable toasters, odourless shoes, very mundane things. Got landed with a hefty fine, though he never served any time for it."

"So, you think Carrigan was behind Selwyn's death then?" Hermione continued, finishing off her drink.

"Well, yes, that or someone else killed him there, knowing it was where Carrigan does a lot of his business in an attempt to frame him."

"Harry..."

"What? It's my job to think outside of the box, Hermione."

"Yes but, there's such an obvious answer right in front of us!"

"A bit _too_ obvious, don't you think?"

"...maybe," Hermione conceded. "Come, we should head back. I'm sure Ashburn and Smith don't fancy being on their own with the crime scene much longer."

 

* * *

 

A few hours later, Hermione sighed in relief as she made her way back through the Ministry Atrium. It had been such a long day, and she couldn't wait to grab her things and head home. It was way past her finishing time, six-thirty seven to be precise, and Ron wouldn't be too happy about her staying late again.

As she walked, she was so busy fantasising about the bath tub waiting for her back at their cottage that she didn't notice when someone fell into step alongside her.

"Granger," Ben greeted rather loudly in her ear, making her jump almost a foot into the air. "You're back!" He observed with a grin.

"Don't do that!" She lightly whacked him on the arm. "And yes, well spotted. What are you doing down here?" She asked suspiciously.

"Visiting Iris, the International Magical Cooperation offices are down here," he pointed out.

"A bit late for a meeting, don't you think?"

"Yes, well, we seem to get along alright. Got a bit distracted," he answered, shooting her a suggestive smirk. "She's very talkative. Though, I _did_ find out some valuable information of the Belgian Ministry, should _our_ plan go awry."

" _Your_ terrible plan, you mean," Hermione corrected. "Do I sense a romance blossoming?"

"I've only just met the woman," he said, still smiling. "Anyway, how'd it go today, find anything of value for me?"

Hermione sighed. "It looks as though Carrigan and his men might be the culprits. Turns out the alley is the doorstep to their meeting point," she explained.

"Carrigan is the up and comer I've heard a little bit about, yes?"

Hermione nodded and pressed the button for the elevator.

"Hmm," he reached out to the elevator that responded and held the door for her. "He hasn't been associated with murder before, has he? Maybe it's an unfortunate coincidence."

"You and Harry think alike," she said, pressing the button for their floor as the door slowly closed. Ben stayed quiet as the elevator started to move, and Hermione couldn't help to notice how nice he smelled now that he was so close - like freshly washed sheets with hints of spice and earthiness, as if he'd just come in from the garden. She wasn't sure if it was natural cleanliness or a cologne, it was so subtle.

She peered up out of the corner of her eyes, noticing his dark eyebrows raised thoughtfully. It was truly ridiculous that he should be so attractive. Surely someone with looks such as his should be in a different profession. Acting, perhaps? _Modelling?_ She checked that his eyes were still locked on the elevator doors before her gaze slowly drifted down his jaw line, across the line of stubble that ran down his jaw and suited its sharp shape perfectly.

"You are staring," he spoke without looking at her, his voice breaking her concentration so suddenly that she almost jumped again. He turned and looked down his nose and flashed his teeth. "Like what you see?"

Hermione breathed a quick breath. "Don't be ridiculous," she said at once and exited the elevator, which had just stopped at their floor. She could hear his footsteps behind her all the way back to their office, driving the blood up to her cheeks as she walked.

She hurried in to her desk, rushing as she threw her belongings into her bag. She headed out of her booth as quickly as she entered, only to find him blocking the door.

"That was quick," he noted.

"Yes, well, I'm running late," she said quickly, her heart rate speeding up slightly.

"You don't have a few minutes to fill me in on your expedition today? I'm sure _Mr. Weasley_ won't mind."

"It can wait until tomorrow," she said, sounding more confident than she felt.

" _Please_?"

"Can't you ask Harry?"

"He's not overly fond of me, is he? You're much more enjoyable."

_Merlin, did he have to smile like that?_

"Well, I'm sorry. Either ask him, or you can wait. I don't see why you're so impatient."

"We have a job to do."

"So, do it tomorrow. You've almost been here twelve hours, get some sleep," she instructed.

He watched her for a moment, something _there_ behind his eyes.

"You're a bit bossy, aren't you?"

She snorted. "That's why I was given the job," she retorted. "Now if you don't mind, I really must be going."

He cocked an eyebrow and stepped aside. She exhaled and made her way through determinedly.

"Hermione?" He said softly as she went to pass him. As she stopped and looked up at him, he moved closer and leaned in to her ear. "I think I quite like it when you're bossy."

Her muscles seized and stole her breath.

And then an odd, horrendously embarrassing sound that was somewhere between amusement and surprise came from her throat, and she brushed past before he could say anything else.

She determinedly didn't look back.

But when she finally reached the Floo network back on the ground floor, she allowed herself a quick guilty smile before she headed home.

 


	4. Revelations

Hermione went into work the next day with a firm plan to avoid Ben as much as was physically possible.

She refused to let him get to her, try as he might. She didn't need others to start shaking up her relationship with Ron - Ron was doing a perfectly fine job of that on his own. So, with as much determination as she could muster, she stormed into their office bright and early, ready to nip his flirting right in the bud.

Initially, she was a bit irked seeing that he wasn't there. She had worked up her courage all morning, all for an empty office.

_Typical._

However, the feeling was quickly overcome with relief. Maybe when he arrived, he wouldn't check to see if she was at her desk - that way, she could work peacefully at putting the previous day's report together without a single interruption.

Yes. This was a far better scenario.

An hour into the better scenario, once curiosity had gotten the better of her, she stood up and peered over the half-wall of her booth.

He still wasn't there.

Frowning, she got up to go and find Harry to see where he was at with his part of the report. She weaved down the corridor and through the Investigation office and rounded the corner past reception, where she heard a very loud giggle. She turned to where the high school sound was coming from, and there leaning against the reception desk was Ben, chatting up a storm with Iris Paterson.

 _Shouldn't she be back in her own department?_ Hermione thought to herself bitterly. She narrowed her eyes and made her way over.

"Good _morning!_ " She greeted in the same tone that Iris was speaking in. "I was starting to think you were just late today. Yet here you are..."

"How sweet of you to worry," Ben smiled sweetly. "I was just saying to Iris about how very lucky I am to be stuck with you."

Hermione's eyes narrowed further.

"Yes, he was, it's wonderful to see such friendship between our department leaders. A happy Ministry is an effective Ministry!" Iris said eagerly, resting a hand on Ben's arm as she spoke.

Hermione let out a small nervous laugh as she looked between the two of them. "Yes, how wonderful... Well I really must be going, I was just on my way to see Harry."

"Good seeing you, Hermione," Iris dismissed.

"I'll be with you in fifteen minutes!" Ben called as she retreated into the safety of Harry's office and closed the door.

"Something horrible is happening out there, Harry," Hermione said as she took a seat in his office.

"If you're referring to the incessant giggling that's been ongoing for the last half hour, then you are quite right," he said, looking out his window at their boss socialising. "If only she knew the tree she was barking up."

"Harry..."

"Well, it's true. He's a psychopath."

"You don't know that."

"One of these days Hermione, you'll come crawling back to me, begging for forgiveness. And you know what I'll do then?"

"I hate to think."

"I'll say, 'I told you so'," he said smugly. "After we arrest him, of course."

Hermione snorted.

"I suppose now is a good time to tell you... I organised a meeting with Kingsley this afternoon," Harry said suddenly.

"Oh yeah? What for?"

Harrys eyes darted towards their boss out the window and back again.

Hermione sighed. "I suppose it's for the best."

"...You - you're not mad?" Harry asked, sitting up a little straighter.

"No... he should know what you think, even if they are just suspicions. I'm a little surprised it's taken you this long, even."

Harry sighed and rolled his eyes as another ear-splitting giggle filled the room. "I wonder what he's saying that's making her laugh like that. Surely he's not very funny? How could a man with no soul have a sense of _humour_?"

"They say he used to be very charming when he wanted to be, surely you of all people know that," Hermione said, following Harry's gaze out of his window. "And you'll find that 'Ben' is quite a flirt, a trait I'm sure _Lord Voldemort_ wouldn't pick up over the years."

"Iris not the only one he's luring then?"

"I think he may be trying to charm every woman he comes across. He even tried it on Ginny, calling her beauti-" Hermione trailed off seeing the look of disgust on Harry's face. "Sorry."

"What about you? You're the one stuck in the same office as him," Harry asked with a firm frown.

"Well... he has... _said_ some things. But I think he spares me for the most part seeing as we share an office. Though, it is a little uncomfortable really," she replied in a small voice.

"Ron wouldn't be happy, he's paranoid enough as it is. You really should just sit down and _talk_ to him, Hermione," Harry said, looking away from the window.

"Ron and I speak every day," she said, turning her nose up. "Anyway, don't tell anyone that I've told you this, but Ben has the silliest idea to interview someone who's had contact with Voldemort in _Belgium._ So if you still wanted, you'll have a solid opportunity to search the office while he's gone. Although, I think he wants me to go, too."

"Wait, Belgium? _He wants you to leave the county with him_?" Harry demanded. "No. You're not going, I won't let you. Ron would kill me."

"I hardly think it's your responsibility to look after me, Harry. Anyway, I'm thinking of telling Kingsley about it and putting a stop to it myself; it could get us into a lot of trouble, I don't know what he's thinking."

"It is my responsibility! It's _Voldemort_ , Hermione. And yes, tell him. You can even come to my meeting this afternoon if you'd like. What if you don't come back? I'm surprised you even came back from _Surry,_ let alone _Belgium-_ "

Looking past Harry, Hermione's eyes were drawn back to Ben. Iris was still chatting away, but he didn't seem to be paying any attention. He was looking directly at her, his mouth turning up ever so slightly at the corner as their eyes met. Almost as if he knew exactly what they were discussing...

"I... I think I should go," she stammered quickly, rising from her seat.

"What? No, we're not done-"

"We shouldn't talk here," she said bluntly, silently pleading Harry with her eyes. "Just in case."

Harry stared at her thoughtfully for a moment, before nodding. She was so grateful for her friendship with Harry; though years had passed since they went to school together, he could still understand her with one look. As much as she loved Ron, her relationship with Harry was truly the one thing that kept her grounded.

"And we'll need the report very soon. By this afternoon sometime?" She added as she opened the office door.

"Whatever you say, boss."

As she left his office, her heart was racing. Surely she was just being paranoid. He couldn't he really know everything they'd said, not with the silencing charms that were placed on all of the offices. No, it was ridiculous. Harry was just rubbing off on her.

 _There is no way to reverse age,_ she told herself reassuringly.

As she passed Ben and Iris, she kept her head down and kept walking, in the hopes that they wouldn't pay her any mind.

"It was good speaking to you Iris, but I really should be going now. Lots to be done!" She heard him say as she passed.

"Oh, alright, maybe I'll see you at lunch?"

"That would be wonderful!" He called back to her, as he jogged to catch up with Hermione.

She swore under her breath.

"Granger," he greeted again, falling into step with her. "Merlin, I thought I'd never be free of her."

"You seemed as though you were quite enjoying yourself," she said dryly, trying to keep her voice steady.

"Maybe for the first ten minutes," he said. "She's really got a mouth on her, hasn't she?"

"I've never seen her speak so much in my life, and I've known her for a year," Hermione said.

"Lucky me," Ben reached out and held their office door open for her. "How's your report coming?"

"Fine. It should be ready early this afternoon."

"So you'll have time to catch me up today?"

"...isn't that the whole point of the _report_? To catch you up?"

"As you said yourself, I'm not a patient man."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "If you insist."

Thankfully, going through the events of the previous day didn't take long at all. He already knew the outcome of what they found, so she only needed to explain how they came across the information about Carrigan.

A few hours later once her storytelling and report were done and dusted, and she sat at her desk twiddling a quill between her fingertips, a memo flew into her booth and landed neatly in front of her. She dropped the quill and pulled it open, seeing a note from Kingsley;

 _Hermione,_  
 _Need to see you in my office. As soon as you can._  
- _KS_

She rose from her desk in a hurry, nerves building. Was this about Harry's meeting? Or the Selwyn case?

Or worse, what if it was about the Veritaserum?

"Heading down to see Kingsley. I don't know how long I'll be," she said quickly to Ben as she left the office. He didn't even look up from his papers, he simply nodded.

Her mind ran away from her on the journey down to the first floor. She was calmed knowing that it was Kingsley, and if she were in any sort of trouble, at least it would be a friend doing the scolding.

She nervously knocked on his large office door, which opened itself at her touch. She peered in, relief flooding her seeing Kingsley behind his desk, and Harry sitting across from him.

"Take a seat, Hermione," Kingsley said as the door closed itself behind her. She took the seat next to Harry, who seemed to be waiting patiently. "I didn't want to get too far without you; I'm sure Harry would pass it all on, and you have a right to know all that is discussed. Saves it being repeated," Kingsley smiled.

"Oh, alright then. Is this about...?"

"Harry has come to me with some concerns about Ben, and who he may bear some resemblance to," Kingsley stated. "It was my mistake - I take full responsibility. I thought it would be a long shot that you'd recognise him. Obviously, I was wrong."

"You already knew that he looks like Tom Riddle?" Harry asked, leaning forward.

"Yes. I just so happened to have a meeting with Horace while I was looking through the applications for the position... He almost had a heart attack seeing his photograph," Kingsley said. "In the end, his resemblance was the main reason I decided to appoint him."

"WHAT?!" Harry demanded, rising from his seat.

"You have to understand - we appointed him to keep him where we can keep a close eye on him," said Kingsley.

"SO SEND HIM TO AZKABAN!"

"Do you think that that wasn't our first thought? The only thing we have on him is his _resemblance_ to a younger Voldemort. He was interviewed, intensively. We ran thorough background check after background check, and it appears that 'Benjamin Jenkins' is a real person. We even spoke to his mother!" Kingsley said, running his hand over his head. "Unless we're willing to break international wizarding law, the Wizangamot _cannot_ prosecute him on resemblance alone, not when he can prove his identity. This Ministry cannot go back to how it was under Fudge."

" _You seem to be doing an excellent job of running it differently!_ " Harry spat sarcastically. _"And so what - you decide to give him one of the most powerful positions available in the Ministry?!_ _HOW DOES THAT WORK?!_ "

"As I've said, while he's here, we can keep an eye on him! If he _is_ Voldemort, by putting him in this position, he'll think that he's safe. Maybe it'll make him sloppy. Currently, he's under a twenty-four seven being watch, so if he makes _any_ movement, we'll know immediately and can make the arrest."

Harry's eyes looked as though they'd soon burst from his skull. "Your plan is to _bait_ him? ARE YOU MAD? WHAT ABOUT SELWYN? HOW MANY MORE NEED TO DIE BEFORE YOU ACT?!"

"Harry, _listen to me! He's being watched! On the night Selwyn was killed, he never left his house!_ "

"HE'S WORKING WITH OTHERS THEN!"

"His mail is being monitored. He is not connected to the Floo network. No one other than his mother and his cleaner have visited his home in the time that we've been watching him," Kingsley explained, somehow keeping his voice calm. "At this point, it does not look like he was behind Selwyn's death."

"Oh, so he just _happens_ to find a lead in his first week here? You expect me to believe that that's a coincidence?!"

"Yes. That's what it looks like. Not to mention... the lead was arguably Hermione's."

"And when were you planning on informing us of all of this?! As the Head of the Auror Office, when did you think it would be a good time to inform me of what my Aurors are doing?!" Harry continued, though his voice had dropped. "And Hermione? You've thrown her in dark!"

"I wouldn't have appointed you Hermione, if I didn't think you could handle it," Kingsley said to her calmly before turning back to Harry. "I thought that telling you all of this would be too risky. What if the link between yourself and Voldemort hasn't truly severed? Occlumency has never been your strong point, Harry."

"I passed my tests with flying colours!"

"And he isn't an examiner!"

"What about Legilimency? Or Veritaseum? How far have you questioned?" Hermione asked, cutting Harry off.

"He took the Veritaseum when he was interviewed _voluntarily_ before he was appointed. I've also had Croaker try his hand at Legilimency, to no avail. Either, he's a brilliant Occlumens, or... he's telling the truth, and it's just an unfortunate coincidence."

"No. _No_ ," said Harry. " _No way_."

"You're more than welcome to keep an eye on him. I can even appoint you part time to the task force. Although, he doesn't know he's being watched out of hours, and I hope I don't have to remind you of how pivotal it is that he doesn't find out," said Kingsley in an attempt to keep the peace.

"This... this is _bollocks,_ " Harry said, before storming out of the office in anger.

The stretch of silence was broken as Kingsley sighed before turning to Hermione. "I hope it's become clear why I put you in this position rather than Harry," he said after a while. "I have no doubt that you'll be able to handle it."

Hermione smiled sadly. "I appreciate your faith in me. And Kingsley... I need to tell you, Ben wants to leave the country and head to Belgium to speak to an associate of Selwyn's," she said before she could stop herself. "He seems to want me to accompany him."

Kingsley nodded thoughtfully. "And what do you think?"

"Me? I think it's madness. I can't see a way that it'll work out. I also don't think it _wise_ to be alone with him that far from here. What if he goes rogue? What if Harry's right? It would be a perfect opportunity for him."

"You're not wrong... though, I'm positive you could handle yourself. The amount of times you and Harry escaped him before-"

" _Barely_. You dueled him, _with_ Professor McGonagall _and_ Slughorn. I know I've improved, but not to _that_ standard, not even close," Hermione gushed.

"I'll speak to him," Kingsley said at last. "I won't have you going with him, don't worry."

"Thank you," she said in a small voice.

"However... the Aurors who are watching him out of hours aren't doing so during working hours. That's what I'll leave to you, and to a smaller extent, Harry," Kingsley continued explaining. "I trust, if you notice anything, _anything at all_ that's even remotely suspicious - you can come to me at any time."

Hermione withheld a laugh as she thought about the socks locked away in Ben's desk.

"Of course."

 

* * *

 

Hermione left the Ministry after the meeting to head to a muggle cafe for a coffee. She'd often head out just to clear her head, and being surrounded by muggles made it all feel simpler, as it did with her parents.

She spent a long time mulling over everything that Kingsley had said. It was true, Harry was far too hot-headed to be around Ben... but her? The Minister for Magic truly thought she was the best choice to work side by side with a suspected Dark Lord? The amount of trust that Kingsley had put in her was almost overwhelming.

A solid hour later when she forced herself to return to her office, Hermione half expected to see Harry with his wand to Ben's neck.

Thankfully, that wasn't the case.

"Hey," she greeted Ben, who was hunched over at his desk engrossed in a very large book. He didn't reply, but he did look up from the book.

His stare was cold.

She stopped in her tracks. "...are you alright?"

He continued glaring for a moment before speaking. "Have a nice chat with the Minister?" He asked slowly.

"It was alright," she said timidly.

"Tell me, what did you discuss?" He leaned forward, resting his hands under his chin.

"Nothing."

"Gone for _two hours_ for a meeting with the _Minister for Magic_ , and you discussed _nothing_?" He asked sarcastically.

"Yes," she said determinedly and continued walking over to her desk. She put down her things and took a seat, ready to go over another report that had been placed in her 'in' tray.

"So you didn't discuss the Selwyn case at all?" Ben asked, having followed Hermione over to her desk. He took up a spot leaning against the booth entrance.

"No."

"That's funny," he said, looking not at all amused. "Care to tell me why Kingsley revoked my Portkey allowance half an hour ago?"

"I wouldn't have the slightest idea."

"You're a terrible liar, Hermione."

"I don't know what you want me to say," she said defiantly, taken slightly off guard by how angry he seemed.

"'Keep your mouth shut'. That was the only instruction I gave you!" His voice rose to a yell.

"You were going to break the _law!_ " Hermione yelled back, matching his tone.

"And you should have let me break it!"

"That is _quite literally_ the opposite of my job description!"

"I don't give a _fu-"_ Ben broke off mid-yell as another memo flew into the office and collided with his chest. Frowning, he pulled the memo open, his eyes darting as he read it. When he finished he rolled his eyes before glaring again at Hermione. "We are not done here," he said pointing a finger, and proceeded to turn and leave the office.

Hermione exhaled a deep breath that she didn't realise she was holding. She packed her things up into her bag rather quickly, assuming that the memo must have been from Kingsley for him to leave so suddenly. If he was that angry on a suspicion that she spilled the beans to Kingsley, she hated to think how he'd be after Kingsley confirmed his suspicions. She thanked Merlin that it had just passed five and left the Ministry rather quickly, thinking to herself that she _was_ done here.

 

* * *

 

For the rest of the week, Ben acted like a complete and utter child. He ignored her with a passion and didn't even mention his own meeting with Kingsley, cementing a firm glare onto his face whenever she was unfortunate enough to meet his eyes. He only spoke to her to inform her that he'd decided that she would be solely working on the You-Know-Who case, while Selwyn and Carrigan would go to Harry.

Needless to say, Harry was less than impressed.

"It's just ridiculous!" He ranted that Saturday night. They sat around Bill's kitchen table as they often did to keep the Order of the Phoenix as active as possible in Voldemort's absence. "And Kingsley's just _let_ him do it! I'm the most qualified to remain on Voldemort's case, it's insane!"

Hermione smiled reassuringly at Ginny, who looked as though she's heard this particular rant numerous times.

"'E's 'aving a very 'ard time at the moment!" Fleur defended as she cleaned the table with a swish of her wand. "'E came over last week for dinner, the German Ministry 'as called for 'is resignation! 'E won't do it, of course, but all ze same!"

"Fleur's right Harry, he's getting it from all sides at the moment," Bill said. "I wouldn't take it personally, he's just trying to keep too many people happy at the same time."

"Weren't you still thinking You-Know-Who is behind Selwyn's murder anyway?" Ron chimed in. "So the two cases might still be the same yet."

"I just wish they'd _see sense_ ," Harry finished.

"...you know, if you wanted... we could always keep our _own_ watch," Ron continued. "You know, like old times. Maybe the watch that's on him has been missing something."

"Ron..." Hermione said warningly. "I thought you'd left this behind."

"Well, now it's getting exciting again, isn't it?"

"Hmm... that's not such a bad idea..." Harry said.

"Harry, no!" Hermione scolded. "You can't mess with a Ministry operation!"

"And the Ministry can't let a mass murderer run free!"

"There's nothing else we can do! Kingsley's right, they don't have a shred of evidence other than his looks. And even that's debatable too, You-Know-Who hasn't looked like that in over fifty years! We just have to wait for him to slip up, _if it is him_ ," Hermione reasoned.

"Who knows," Ginny started. "Maybe his mother had an affair? Maybe he's Voldemort's illegitimate son?"

Ron and Harry laughed loudly.

"I'm serious! Riddle looked just like _his_ father!" She defended.

"You know, that's not the craziest idea I've ever heard," Hermione considered. "Maybe that's why he's so eager to find You-Know-Who, maybe he thinks he's a relative too."

"Would you listen to yourselves?" Harry said in between snorts. "Voldemort, having sex? That's crazy!"

"At least we're coming up with plausible ideas!" Ginny retorted.

"'Plausible', right," Harry scoffed.

"We could always just... you know... _ask_ him about it," Hermione said, quickly having to defend her words against Harry's glares. "Bear with me! Kingsley said they've interviewed him about it. He obviously knows that he looks like Tom Riddle. It might be a good idea to see how he handles a few questions coming from _us_."

"Yeah... I mean... yeah we could..." Harry said thoughtfully. "He'd know that we're onto him though."

"Well he already knows that you don't like him. He may as well know why."

"I'm sure he figured it out when he killed my parents..." Harry trailed off, taking a swig of his butterbeer.

"Harry..." Bill began. "You're _sure_ that the link between you is gone? You don't... get any feelings or anything when Ben's around?"

"No, nothing. Now that the horcrux is gone, I haven't felt a thing," he replied almost sadly. "It would be so convenient to have it back, just for a day."

"Don't say that!" Ginny whacked him on the arm. "Nothing is worth that again!"

"Getting rid of him once and for all would be."

To that, everyone in the room silently agreed.

 

* * *

 

"Good morning," Ben greeted brightly as Hermione walked into the office the following Monday, taking her off guard.

She stopped in her tracks, and looked behind her to see if anyone else had entered the office behind her.

"You're talking to me again?" She asked, raising her eyebrows.

"I have news," he said, moving closer.

"Go on then."

"After your little _stunt_ last week, Iris and Kingsley organised a meeting with the Belgian Ministry rather than letting me go over there. In turn, their Aurors checked out Evrard's place, and didn't find a single thing. He's not there, looks like the place hasn't been lived in for months."

"That's..." She began, thoroughly confused by how cheery he sounded. "That's not good."

"No, it's not. _However_ , apparently the man can't perform a _portus_ charm, and travels with the muggles. He flew into Heathrow seven months ago - no return trip."

"Oh my gosh," she said, putting her things down.

"Yeah."

"You think that's when Voldemort returned to the country then?"

"I'd be willing to bet on it."


	5. Coming Clean

The following week went by far smoother than the one before. Florian Evrard had been placed on their wanted list, and the Investigation offices were buzzing as a result. It had only been a week, yet they had received letters of sightings upon sightings, the wizarding community desperate for the five-hundred galleon reward placed on his head. The majority of the sightings were false, of course, but the hope that they brought provided the motivation that the department very much needed.

Hermione was grateful for the opportunity to spend her next Saturday in the Ministry's library. Initially when Ron began working at the joke shop, she was disappointed by his working every fourth weekend. But over the years, she'd come to appreciate her alone time. She felt like she'd been waiting and waiting for the opportunity to investigate the reversal of ageing, and by the time she arrived in the library that morning, she couldn't wipe the smile from her face.

The Ministry's library was _beautiful._ There were owls soaring above toward the old ceiling, perching on the dark bookshelves, some of which reached around four metres high. There were an endless supply of study nooks, each equipped with welcoming armchairs and warm fireplaces. As Deputy Head of the department, Hermione had been granted unrestricted access to the whole thing, and at almost a full football field larger than Hogwarts, she wasn't sure whether she'd ever get through it all.

The library was quite empty being a weekend, the majority of presences there being staff members. She was sorely tempted by the deserted charms section, but reminded herself that she'd entered with a firm plan; she would first tackle the Dark Arts section where she was sure to have the most privacy before moving onto potions. She was sure that if Voldemort had regained his youth somehow, it would have been through some form of dark magic. And if not, a potion seemed the most likely next suspect.

Access to the Dark Arts wing required wand recognition to enter, and after the glass door had allowed her entry, Hermione was pleased to find that it too was deserted. She wandered the isles, scanning the tall shelves quickly for suspicious titles as she passed. After circling around the wing multiple times over about an hour, she finally decided on only four promising books, and left the section to find a desk. She dumped the heavy books on a particularly secluded one out near the potions section, and set to finding some more books.

The morning was almost over by the time she finally settled down and begun stifling through the pages. She set to work on what she thought was the most promising of her books, a Dark Arts tome entitled 'Alchemy, Ancient Arts, and Afflictions'. She was initially drawn in by its vague title that suggested it might contain information about healing. As she hadn't heard of a way for Voldemort to regain his old appearance, she assumed that if there was one, it'd be old magic. And old, the tome certainly was.

She set about reading, not bothering with the vague index page. As she flicked through the parchment pages, she found herself scowling at all of the dark magic she was brushing past. She didn't even need to read most of it; the pictures were grotesque enough.

She brushed over a few pages on healing accidental injuries caused by the dark arts and scoffed aloud at the description of using human eyeballs in a similar manner to a bezoar. As she flipped to the next page, she perked in her seat and widened her eyes as she skimmed across the word 'immortality'.

_Of all of the arts described herein, the most popular and most advanced is, by far, the idea of immortality. The only known wizard to have achieved a status of immortality is of course, Herpo the Foul - generating a Horcrux tethered the Greek wizard to life. Attaching a segment of the soul to an inanimate object to ensure that once the body is destroyed, the consciousness lives on was a popular idea among the Dark Art community for centuries, though Herpo was the first to claim success. At large in Ancient Greece, Herpo was the first known wizard to hatch a basilisk egg, 548 AD. It is unknown what became of the Dark Wizard, though it is thought that he perished late in the muggle Viking raids during 862 AD in Northern Russia, after his Horcrux was unknowingly destroyed, though this has not yet been confirmed._

Hermione brushed over the next few paragraphs, not needing a history lesson. She needed _other_ ways to attain immortality, other than Horcruxes. Though part of her was sure that if it were as simple as looking through some books at the library, Tom Riddle would have surely found them. Still, she tried to reason that _he_ never had access to the Ministry's library. Besides, once he had found out about Horcruxes in school, why would he have needed to find another way to become immortal?

"Immortality?" A deep voice sounded from behind Hermione's shoulder, prompting her to jump in her seat. "A bit dark for you Granger, don't you think?"

Hermione slammed the book shut as the one person she didn't want to see made his way around the table, taking up a seat opposite her.

"'Know thy self, know thy enemy'," Hermione quoted defensively, feeling her blood rush to her cheeks as she tucked the book underneath her arm. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask the same of you. Don't you have a family to spend your time with? What of Ronald?" Ben countered with a lopsided grin, showing off his pristinely white teeth.

"Ron is working," she said quickly. "And I like spending my free time here."

"Something else we have in common."

"Your husband is working, too?" Hermione questioned before she could stop herself.

Ben rolled his eyes and pulled one of her potions books towards himself.

"'A Detailed Guide to Regenerative Potions'?" Ben quoted questioningly, arching an eyebrow. "Whatever are you looking for?"

Hermione shot her hand out and pulled the book back towards herself. "That's _mine_ , thank you very much."

"What, are you sick or something?" He continued.

"No! I'm simply researching for work purposes," she said possibly too defensively, mentally scolding herself for not staying hidden in the Dark Arts section. "Now if you don't mind, there are plenty of empty tables over _there_."

"Ouch," Ben laughed, leaning forward on the table. "If you're researching for work, don't you think that you should keep _me_ in the loop?"

Hermione's mouth twitched.

"Now," Ben started, pulling the book back out of her grip firmly, "if you inform me of what you're looking for, perhaps I can assist you? Surely two minds are better than one."

"That's really not necessary," Hermione reached back for the book, only to be swatted away by Ben's large hand.

"Think of it as an order from your superior," Ben said with a small laugh, opening the large book. "Though I do recall you not being very good at following orders. Now _,_ what are you looking for?"

Hermione stared at him for a moment, her mind almost running too fast for her to keep up with. Should she tell him the truth? Come clean? She _had_ been caught red handed, and she _had_ discussed the option of simply speaking to him about it with Harry.

He didn't tell her 'no', did he? She distinctly remembered Harry saying 'maybe'.

But she still wasn't sure what to believe. What if he was offended? What if it really was just a coincidence, and he was innocent all along? Telling him their suspicions could ruin her relationship with her boss, something she had learned was very important in her field. But then again, according to Kingsley, he'd already been informed about his likeness to a younger Voldemort… and, really, did she need him? She already had Kingsley on her side anyway...

Making a split-second decision that she was sure would get her in trouble later, Hermione sighed.

"I was... I was looking for a way that _he_ \- that _You-Know-Who -_ might have... might have changed his appearance," she eventually got out.

He raised an eyebrow. "You've mentioned that before. What makes you think he has? And that it's related to his immortality? I thought you three had destroyed the Horcruxes years ago," he added as he flicked through the pages of the book.

Hermione took a deep breath, finding it very hard to speak in such proximity.

 _It's okay, you're in the Ministry. He can't possible do anything to you here, there are witnesses,_ she told herself, in a bid to pluck up her courage.

"I was - we were - it's just - it's just that -" Hermione took another quick breath to calm her nerves. "You just... _you_ look a lot like... you know... _him_ ," she managed to force out, averting her eyes.

He let out a breath of laughter and raised his eyebrows further.

"Him?" He asked. She had imagined many ways that this conversation would go, but she hadn't expected him to _smile_. She was sure he knew what she meant though, he just wanted her to _say it._

"You-Know-Who."

He laughed again, his dark eyes flicking away from hers for a moment. “ I've been told."

"And... why _is_ that?" She asked, leaning forwards on her elbows, feinting confidence in an attempt to hide her nerves.

"Why is your hair so bushy?" He countered. "Why are your eyes brown?"

She thought his questions rhetorical but when he sat silently looking expectant, she figured she was wrong. "Well... they're genetic traits that have been passed on to me," she said at last.

He raised his eyebrows and laughed yet again. "You were meant to say, 'I don't know'."

"Oh... sorry."

"Well, _I_ don't know why I look the way I do."

"It's just..." she continued carefully. "It's just so strange... the resemblance is truly uncanny,” she said, before quickly adding, "to when he was young, I mean.”

He nodded.

"What do you know of a young Dark Lord?" He asked, focusing his full attention on her as his smile slowly vacated.

"I've seen pictures... and I know that he was a half-blood," she began, watching carefully to see whether her words pressed any buttons. "I know that he grew up in an orphanage, and never knew love."

"I didn't take you as a fan of Rita Skeeter," he said, his face still unreadable.

This time, it was Hermione's turn to laugh. "Trust me, I'm not," she said, searching her own mind for ammunition. Anything that would give a reaction if he was who they thought he was. "I know that he was proud, and liked to collect things. Mementos, I suppose, of his actions. I know that he was very charming when he wanted to be and had a knack for manipulation - a trait that never abandoned him. I know that he was rather odd from a young age, never fit in anywhere before Hogwarts, even killed another orphan's pet rabbit, revenge for being made fun of."

He raised his eyebrows, though his expression still gave nothing away. "That's not in the book," he commented.

"No."

"I could have saved myself the trouble of reading that trash, had I just spoken to you."

"Yes, well, we needed as much information as we could get," Hermione said. "We never would have found his Horcruxes had we not known of his history."

As she spoke, her eyes never left his, looking for some subtle reaction. But, much to her disappointment, he remained unreadable.

Just when she thought he would remain quiet, he smiled. "When I was nineteen, and had just moved to Sweden, a woman I worked with seemed to recognise me. She asked if I was Tom's son, and asked me how he was, what became of him. Turned out that they'd gone to school together," he said. "I had no idea what she was talking about. 'My father was a muggle named Robert', I told her. She was a very nice old woman, I quite liked her. A few months later though, Rita Skeeter released her book and the rest of the world found out that a boy called Tom Riddle grew up to be the darkest wizard who ever lived. Even included a few school photos for good measure... She never spoke to me again, after that."

"I-I'm sorry," Hermione stammered, having been taken off guard.

"She wasn't the only one. Slowly but surely, many of my co-workers and acquaintances started to distance themselves. It wasn't all bad though," he added seeing Hermione's sympathetic expression. "It drove me here. It made me determined to find him myself. Who knows, maybe he _is_ a relative of mine. Hell, maybe when we find him, you all won't be so squeamish around me."

"We're no-"

"Don't give me that. That's why Harry doesn't like me, isn't it? And why _you_ don't trust me?"

"It... It _may_ have something to do with it," she said guiltily.

"Thought so."

"You… you think you're related then?" Hermione continued before the quiet could  become awkward.

"Possibly. My mother swears on her grave that she never cheated on my father. Though, maybe he's a long lost uncle? Or a cousin? Maybe we share the same muggle family heritage in the Riddles," Ben pondered in response.

Hermione stared at him thoughtfully. He was no longer looking back, instead fiddling with the corner of the parchment of the potions book. He was biting his lip, almost nervously.

It confused her; she wouldn't have expected Voldemort to be _nervous._ Or to tell her a life story.

 _But perhaps that's why he told you_ , she thought to herself, _to throw you off_.

"So..." Ben continued, meeting her eyes again. "I take it that you think _I'm_ him then? That's what you meant by 'changed his appearance'?"

"Yes," Hermione breathed out honestly.

He let out a faux laugh. "And so you're looking up potions and Dark Arts?"

Hermione shifted in her seat uncomfortably. "Yes. We - I thought maybe there was a way to reverse age that I hadn't heard of."

Ben shook his head with a smile. "I don't know whether to be offended or to take it as a compliment."

"It's not personal," she replied quietly.

"No, I don't suppose it is," he said, striking Hermione by how _sad_ he looked. "As I said, you're not the only ones who have had those thoughts. You think that Kingsley didn't notice?"

"No, I'm sure he did," Hermione said quickly, biting her lip.

"They locked me in his office while they questioned me, you know," Ben went on. "I was there for hours, answering all of his questions. They ran check after check, I even called in my mother."

Hermione smiled a small smile as she noticed how similar his side of things were to Kingsley's.

"I know it might be hard to trust me, I do. I get it. But at least trust Kingsley," he finished, holding her eye contact as he spoke.

"...I do," Hermione said at last, his intense stare taking her by surprise.

As she held his gaze and took in his sad, pained expression, Hermione's stomach dropped with a sudden realisation.

_She believed him._

 

* * *

 

Hermione ended up having quite a good Saturday. Following their discussion, she had spent the rest of the afternoon sharing her table with Ben as they worked. After abandoning her research, she went on to help him sort through the hundreds of sighting reports of Florian Evrard, and actually ended up _enjoying_ herself.

Much to her surprise, they got along very well when she wasn't suspecting him of mass murder.

As she made her way through the almost empty Ministry to the Floo points that evening, her mind was stuck on her day. She smiled a little bit as she remembered how Ben had jumped and scolded her for laughing when a book began wailing at them as they passed in in the Dark Arts wing.

As she tried to hide her smile, she felt a pang of guilt. Sure, she was doing her job, but she had still spent her whole Saturday with a man who wasn't Ron. A man who her friends thought was Voldemort. If Ron found out, he'd probably demand she resign and never see him again.

But... then again, did he have to know? She could always keep it to herself. It wasn't as though anything had happened between them. It was just work.

Yes, she decided. That was exactly what she would do.

Besides, she was allowed to have male friends, wasn't she? The only problem was Ron’s irrational predisposition to jealousy. But did he have a reason to be jealous? Sure, Ben was tall, dark-haired and handsome, but that didn't mean there was a reason for him to be jealous.

Thinking that a man is attractive doesn't mean a thing... _does it?_

It wasn't as though she'd never been attracted to another man before. There was Richard from the Department of the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and there was even a time in her school days when she'd had a small crush on _Harry_. But she'd gotten over _those_ well enough, so what was to say that she wouldn't get over this, too? And besides, she had Ron. She would never _act_ on her attraction to Ben, so what was the harm?

She stepped into the grate, and proceeded to Floo back home, feeling the familiar warmth as the green flames engulfed her. As she stepped out of her own fireplace, she levitated her bags over to the kitchen table and hung up her jacket, before heading upstairs to the bedroom.

"Hello," she greeted Ron, who was already right at home lying on the bed.

"Hey, you're home late," he commented while opening his arms in an invitation for her to lay down with him.

"Yeah. I spent the day in the library, you know how I get caught up," she explained, taking up the spot next to him and curling her legs up.

"Come across anything of use?" He asked.

She had told Ron the day before of her plan to research possible ways of Voldemort becoming young again.

It might’ve been the only time that she spoke of her work and he remembered what she told him.

"Not really," she said quickly, looking blankly towards the end of the bed.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"...is something wrong?" He asked timidly.

"No, why would something be wrong?" She replied innocently, turning back towards him.

"Normally you'd jump at the chance to tell me about something you read in a book, that's all," he shrugged.

She shrugged in return. "I just didn't find anything, that's all."

He nodded, tightening his arm around her shoulder.

"I'm starting to doubt this theory of Harry's," she said slowly.

"Just because you didn't find anything in a day?"

"Well... it hasn't just been today, not _really_..."

"Hmm, well, Harry still seems pretty determined, he said yesterday that he saw-"

" _Yesterday?_ " Hermione questioned, sitting up. "You saw Harry yesterday?"

Ron's eyes widened slightly as he realised his mistake. "Oh – did I say yesterday? I meant last week, I didn't-"

" _Ronald?_ "

He sighed and sat up too. "You know how Harry gets out a bit early on Fridays... Well we _may_ have caught up while you were working late," he blurted out quickly, scratching the back of his neck.

"And what were you doing when you 'caught up'?"

"Just went for a drink in Diagon Alley, that's all."

"Ron, your ears are pink."

"What's this got to do with my ears?" Ron asked.

"It's your tell! I know when you're not telling me the truth!"

He huffed and rose from the bed. "We just thought that we'd, you know, keep an eye on your boss' place."

" _Ron! I told the both of you 'no'!_ "

"You said yourself, they're not watching him while he works! We thought that something might be happening at his place," Ron defended.

"I can't _believe_ you! You're actively interfering with a Ministry operation! It's _illegal,_ you're lucky that I don't have you arrested!" Hermione scolded.

"Well, we didn't get _seen_ , did we?" Ron pointed out. "And we didn't even see anything, just a blonde woman doing his cleaning. Apparently, the git can't even charm his house clean by himself."

"Yeah, because _you_ can," Hermione mumbled.

"Oi!"

"Oh please, you couldn't cast a scouring charm to save your life,” she snapped.

"We've been through this, there's no need for _both_ of us to know how to do it!"

"You could at least learn, it's not like it's _hard._ "

"Why do you have to be like this?" Ron demanded angrily.

"Like what?"

"Like anyone who doesn't know as much as you is inferior!"

"What? That's not it at all-"

"Urgh, save it," he grabbed his jacket that was hanging on the bed post. "I'll go to mums, then you won't need to clean up after me."

"Ron, please, honestly," she hurried after him, taking hold of his arm as he was opened the door.

"What, so I can stay and get yelled at some more? No thanks," he pulled his arm out of her grip and headed down the stairs.

She lingered in the doorway until she heard the slam of the front door of the cottage. She didn’t follow.

 

* * *

 

By the time Monday came, Hermione still hadn't seen Ron again. She hadn't thought that their row was that bad really, but apparently Ron had thought differently. As she entered the Ministry elevator, she let out a long, frustrated sigh. After all these years, Ron still hadn't changed. He was still just as dramatic as he was as a teenager, and would run back home at so much the first _inkling_ of a problem. The feelings of bitterness were reminiscent of when he had left her and Harry while they were hunting horcruxes all those years ago. It just went to show that if they had their time again, he still would have made the same decision and left them.

The elevator chimed happily once it arrived at her floor, and she grudgingly made her way through the hall towards the office. She really didn't have it in her today, and she couldn't help herself as she stomped a bit louder than usual.

"Hermione," Ben greeted with a nod of his head and a smile as she entered their office.

"Ben," she followed suit, withholding the smile.

"Have a good Sunday?" he asked, as he brought his hands up to the back of his head and leaned back in his chair.

Hermione looked at him suspiciously before answering. She wasn't sure if she could deal with his chattering in her current mood, especially if he wanted something from her. If there was one thing she had learned in her time sharing an office, it was that he was always far nicer when he had an ulterior motive.

"It was nice, thank you."

"Get up to much?"

"Just spent the day relaxing at home," she mumbled as she slowly moved towards her desk.

"Get up to anymore 'research'?" he asked with a quirked eyebrow.

She dramatically rolled her eyes. "I _said_ that I'm sorry."

"It'd still be nice to hear you say it again," he said, letting out a small laugh seeing how quickly her temper rose.

She ignored his teasing and took her seat in the safety of her booth. She rested her head in her hands for a few moments, before taking out her diary and opening it to the current day. She peered up at her calendar that was hanging from her half wall, and gasped in surprise as she saw someone with their head peering over the wall.

" _Must you_?!"

Ben grinned down at her. "What's gotten you so jumpy?"

She rolled her eyes moodily and tried to ignore him and focus on her diary. _Just ignore him, just ignore him, just ignore-_

"You haven't even started working yet, why are you in such a foul mood?" He persisted. "Come on, after Saturday, I thought we were becoming friends."

"None of your business,” she snapped, feeling a steady rise in her blood pressure.

"Personal issues? _Trouble in paradise?_ "

Hermione sighed angrily and put down her quill. "Is there a reason you are here?"

"This is my office, of course. I work here." He leaned his forearms on the top of the half-wall and rested his chin on top.

" _Why are you pestering me?_ " She reiterated, unable to keep her voice down.

As Ben laughed at her in return, Hermione ground her teeth together in an attempt to keep her mouth shut.

"I am simply looking out for your well-being. Also, I have good news," he said at last.

 _And, here it is,_ Hermione thought to herself bitterly.

"I was called in at five-thirty this morning-"

"That's a good thing _how_?"

"It's a good thing, because while they were on duty this morning, Ashburn and that newbie, Carl Finch I think his name is, apprehended a man by the name of Seamus Aldridge."

Hermione quirked an eyebrow questioningly, not immediately recognising the name.

"He's wanted for questioning regarding the Selwyn case," Ben explained.

"Oh. Right."

"Yes. So, I've owled Potter, hopefully he'll be in any minute now. Once he's been questioned, should everything go smoothly, we'll be able to close the door on the case," he finished with a smug smile.

"That means you'll be out for a while then, down in interrogations?"

"Certainly does."

"Wonderful," Hermione picked up her quill again and went back to attempting to organise her day.

Ben frowned.

"Fine," Ben said feinting offence as he moved away from her wall. "Oh, and there's a report on my desk that I need you to check over. Can you have it done by this afternoon?"

Hermione grunted in response.

A few moments later, when his soft footsteps grew distant, Hermione slumped in her chair.

She simply couldn't focus while she was worrying about Ron.

Perhaps she could owl him? But _he_ was the one with the problem, why should _she_ make the first move? It simply wouldn't do. No, there was no other option than to push him out if her mind and get her job done. She would simply have to deal with Ron once he grew up and came home.

Eventually, once she was certain that Ben had in fact left the office, she moved over to his side of the room and peered at the report sitting on his impeccably tidy desk.

 _Hmm,_ Hermione thought, _he isn't here, so what's the harm in using his desk? It_ is _far more spacious._

She let out a small content sigh as she reclined in his large leather chair. The chair truly was the definition of comfort. Perhaps he'd charmed it to make it softer? She'd have to ask when he came back. She leaned back in the chair as Ben often did, putting her hands behind her head and looked around the room.

_So this is what it's like to be Head of the Department. I could easily get used to this..._

After a short period of indulging, she pulled herself out of her fantasy and forced herself to push through the report. No wonder he had asked her to check over it; it was utterly bland and downright tedious. She only made a few changes, and unintentionally poked a few angry holes in the parchment with her quill as she scribbled. An hour later, she closed the folder the report was in and let out a proud sigh.

But just as she had begun to relax, a yellow memo made its way through the air and collided square in her chest. Frowning, she gently opened the parchment finding a concise sentence written in flawless cursive.

_Hermione, head down to interrogations – room 4._

She rolled her eyes and forced herself up, knowing exactly who it was from. She stomped her way back to the elevator, slightly irritated that his handwriting was far more beautiful than hers was.

Had Hermione not known her way around Interrogations, she wouldn't have had any trouble finding her boss; she could clearly hear his shouting as soon as she exited the elevator and entered the gloomy corridor.

" _-gives you absolutely no excuse! And so help me, if it wasn't for Kingsley, I'd have you out of here sooner than you could blink!"_

Wide-eyed, Hermione sped up her pace and barged into the room that the yelling was coming from. She made it into the small room just in time for Harry's retort.

 _"Go on then, give it your best shot! We know how well_ that's _worked for you in the past!"_ Harry yelled, wand in hand.

"You have _no idea_ what you're talking about," Ben growled with a sneer.

" _What_ on _earth_ is going on?" Hermione demanded as she stood between the two men, taking in the scene before her. Harry looked ready to curse Ben into oblivion, while Ben didn’t seem far off either.

"Mr. _Potter_ seems to have the impression that it is _he_ who runs this department, and that it is _he_ who has the rights to bargain with the criminals," Ben held his glare toward Harry while he spoke.

"Mr. _Jenkins_ seems to think that brute force is the only way to get something out of someone! Aldridge is _clearly_ shady, and if we offer the right deal, _he will talk_!" Harry retorted.

Hermione sighed. "Harry, you can't offer our suspects deals without consulting us, you know that."

Harry turned to Hermione with a look of outrage. "Are you _serious?_ It's the best way to do this, you know that! Aldridge is small time compared with Carrigan or Voldemort! If letting him go with a slap on the wrist means that we get one of them, we'd be crazy not to do it!"

"That may be so, but you can't just ignore protocol!" She argued.

"You're really taking _his_ side with this?!"

"I'm not taking sides! But there are procedures in place for a _reason_."

Ben's scowl had slowly morphed into a triumphant smirk as Hermione agreed with him.

Harry looked back and forth between them for a moment before he finally spoke. "Fine. _Fine!_ Deal with him yourselves then!"

" _Gladly!_ " Ben yelled after Harry as he left the room with a slam of the door.

Hermione sighed and held the bridge of her nose while she closed her eyes. After all of these years she still struggled with Harry's hot-headedness, but she at least thought he'd be a bit smarter than this.

"I don't know how you deal with him, he's such a _prat._ Now we have to stand by his offer!" Ben vented almost immediately.

"Well, maybe Harry was right, and he _will_ talk," she said diplomatically.

As it turned out, he was.

 

* * *

 

The afternoon that day was a large improvement over the morning. As soon as Ben had returned to questioning, Aldridge immediately agreed to Harry's offer. According to him, he didn't have a clue who actually was involved in Selwyn's murder, although he did agree to lead them to Carrigan's hideout. All in all, Hermione though it was a good deal, though Ben would never admit it.

Later that day, Hermione found herself caught out in the department foyer with Ben and Saul Croaker, the Head of the Department of Mysteries. Recently, the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic had left for maternity leave, and the filling of the position was a hot topic of gossip as of late. Saul was insistent that the position would be given to his daughter-in-law Miranda, who currently held a similar position in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, and seemed adamant on telling everyone whom he could find.

"What do you think Mrs. Weasley?" Saul's attention had turned on her.

"I agree, Miranda is a safe bet, but - _Ron?_ " Hermione's attention was drawn from the conversation by a man by the lifts. With his lanky, tall frame, it was most definitely her husband. Upon seeing his wife, he awkwardly scratched his head and made his way over.

"Hi," he greeted as he reached her, and handed her a small bouquet of flowers that he had been attempting to hide behind his back. "These are for you."

Hermione took them carefully, although Ron's tight grip had already squished the stems. "Thank you, Ron," she said with a small smile.

"I know you like purple, so..."

"They're lovely," she said, feeling her anger that she'd been holding onto all day subside. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought I'd surprise you. I was a bit of a prat, so I just thought I would stop by."

She smiled sheepishly. Ron? _Being romantic?_ Who would have thought?

"Oh, Ron, you know Saul, and this is Ben, the new Head of department," Hermione said quickly, being reminded of their presence by Ben softly clearing his throat.

Ron's small smile faded.

"The famous Ron Weasley, pleasure to meet you. I've heard a lot about you," Ben extended his hand to shake.

"Yeah, you too," Ron said after a bit of a pause. He took his hand and shook it, though very quickly.

"All good things, I hope. Well, I suppose I'll leave you to it," Ben said smiling warmly towards Ron. "Fifteen minutes, Hermione?"

She nodded to him in return as he and Saul left them.

"I don't like him," Ron said at once when her boss was out of earshot.

"You've only just met him."

"He's... _preppy_ ," he said with a scowl. "Who even wears Cardigans?"

"He is quite proper," she agreed, choosing not to add that he could probably take a leaf out of his book.

"I had hoped we could get a coffee? But if you only have fifteen minutes..." Ron trailed off.

"No, that's fine, we'll just grab some in the lunch room, it's much quicker here with magic than the muggle cafe," Hermione reasoned.

As they made their way over, Hermione couldn't help but feel a small bit of resentment. He meant well, and she was glad that he had been the one to speak to her first, but now all of her colleagues had seen him come in and give her flowers. The gossip of the new Senior Undersecretary would pass shortly, and she didn't want her relationship with Ron to be the next favourite topic.

"So, about the other day," Ron began shortly after, once they were happily seated in the lunch room sipping their coffees. "I'm sorry. Sometimes it can be hard, being married to such a brilliant witch, y'know?"

"Ronald," Hermione blushed from his praise.

"No, I mean it. It's hard not to feel... inadequate. I suppose it's just a touchy subject. I shouldn't have stormed out."

Hermione's expression softened as she reached across the table and grabbed his hand. "You don't have to worry, not at all. I love _you_ , you're not at all inadequate."

Ron smiled crookedly. "It just seems like we've been bickering so much lately, I just..." Ron sighed and looked over to the small group of employees sitting in the other corner. "Y'know what, maybe we can talk more at home. Here might not the best place."

_You think?_

"That might be best," Hermione said, choosing to ignore the voice in her head.

"Alright. Well, I love you," Ron said as he stood and awkwardly kissed her on the cheek. "You'll have a good afternoon, yeah? And say hi to Harry for me?"

"Of course, I'll see you tonight," she gave him a final wave as he left the lunch room and gathered her things.

Hermione kept her eyes down and couldn't keep the blush from her cheeks as she made the trip back to her office. She had never been keen on mixing her private life with her work life, and if she was completely honest with herself, that was one of the main reasons that she was happy that Ron gave up being an Auror.

She sighed to herself. What was she going to do with Ron? She loved him, without doubt. But he was right, they bickered _all the time_ these days _._ Sure, days like this when he put in an effort helped, but... did she want him to? Were they even _in_ love anymore? He wanted family, and a doting wife. She wanted to wait, and have a career...

_Were they even compatible anymore?_

"So, do tell," Ben asked with a grin, dragging Hermione from her train of thought as she entered the office.

"Tell what?"

"What you had been fighting about, of course."

"What makes you think we were fighting?" She asked innocently.

"You spend all day moping around, stomping your feet and insulting me at every opportunity. Then, the husband comes to visit you with _flowers?_ Come now Granger, I wasn't born yesterday. I know a fight when I see one."

Hermione let out an exasperated sigh and took a seat opposite him at his desk.

"It wasn't even a _big_ fight," she conceded. What was the harm of getting it off of her chest and talking about it? Merlin knows, she couldn't talk to Harry or Ginny. Maybe it would be a good thing to be more friendly with Ben, someone outside of her usual friendship group, who didn't know Ron. An outsider's opinion might turn out to be exactly what she needed. "I don't know how it happened really, one minute we're fine and the next, he's saying that I look down upon him, and storming out and I don't see him for two days."

Ben narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. "I feel like I'm missing something," he said after a moment.

 _Yes, we started arguing about Ronald_ spying _on your house._

"It feels that way to me too," Hermione said averting her eyes.

"Well... is it sorted out now?"

"Sort of..."

"So, no? Damn, here I was hoping you'd be civil again," Ben grinned.

"Sorry."

"Do you fight often?" he continued.

"Not normally, but… it's becoming more frequent, I suppose," she said sadly.

"I've said it before, but I don't know why you're with him. Not that I know him, of course. But I know you, and you are _something else._ "

Hermione smiled out of the corner of her mouth, taken aback. "Thanks, I think," she said, feeling her cheeks heat up.

"You're welcome. Perhaps you need a break, or a holiday of sorts from your relationship. If you ever need anywhere to go, you know where to find me," he winked and smirked jokingly.

"Ugh!" Hermione scowled and rose from her chair. "And to think, for a moment I foolishly believed it was possible to have a pleasant conversation with you!"

"Calm down, love, I'm just ruffling your feathers!" He called to Hermione, who had quickly reached her own desk out of his view.

"My name is not _love_!" She called back, receiving a  bark of laughter in response.

She huffed at her desk and fought a smile before internally scolding herself. She truly was terrible - her husband had gone out of his way to visit her at work and bring her flowers, while she sat at her desk crushing on her boss.

Surely, she would be going to hell.

 


	6. A Guilty Conscience

At nine pm the following Friday night, Hermione found herself between Ben and two Aurors in a deserted alleyway in the presence of a criminal. She had argued, she had protested, but there had been no way out of this adventure, with Ben adamant that she accompany him on his field trip. A field trip with minimal back up, that went completely against Ministry protocol.

"This is as far as I take you," Seamus stated gruffly as they reached the end of the alleyway. In front of them stood a graffitied old door. "In there. That's the place."

Ben shot Hermione a quick look before turning to the two Aurors accompanying them.

"Smith, Finch - could you please escort Mr. Aldridge back to the Ministry and get started on his release papers?" Ben requested.

"Of course," Finch responded quickly, leading Seamus and Smith back the way they came.

Hermione stared at Ben with a look of surprise. "Wha - they're not coming with us?" She asked him, baffled that he would send their only back up away.

"No, why would they?" He asked, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Hmm, I don't know, maybe because we're about to head into a dark wizard's 'hideout'!" She shot back sarcastically.

Ben rolled his eyes dramatically. "Are you _scared?_ "

"I - _no_ , I just think that there is a much smarter way to do this! What's the point in having trained Aurors on hand if we don't use them?" She nagged.

"You _are_ scared," Ben determined. "To think, one of the witches personally involved with bringing down You-Know-Who, scared of a little up and comer and his cronies."

Hermione glared at him for a moment with her arms folded tightly around her chest, accepting that she was not going to win this argument. "Are we going in or not?"

"Shortly. I think we should look around first, maybe we can find another way in. I don't think barging in their front door straight away is a good idea, do you?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and gestured for him to lead the way.

She followed him back up the alleyway and down a connecting side street. He stopped as they approached a large boarded up window, and looked around, presumably looking for muggles. Seeing none, he brought out his wand and spoke softly, " _homenum revelio_."

Hermione couldn't help but admire his wand movements - they were perfect.

Ben frowned and glanced at her quickly. "This might be our way in. We'll circle again in case there's a better entry, but this one looks fairly safe. There's a few people in there - not sure how many, at least two, but none near the window," he spoke softly.

Hermione swallowed. It had been a while since she had experienced such adrenaline on the field. Her first few years of being an Auror didn't faze her in the slightest, not after her experience hunting Horcruxes. But a couple of years without encountering a real threat had really softened her up.

After circling the whole block, they (or rather, Ben) made the decision to head back around to the first window. As they approached the wall, Hermione frowned.

"How are we meant to make it up there? It's at least a story high!" Hermione pondered out loud, regretting her words as soon as they left her mouth.

Ben looked at her as if she had lost her mind. Without saying anything, he gestured for Hermione to take hold of his arm. Grudgingly, Hermione gently grasped his upper arm, taking care to hold as little of him as possible. He cast a quick silencing charm upon them, and for the second time, Hermione was pulled into side-along apparition with him. As they reappeared up on the first floor of the building behind a large board which Hermione assumed was the window, she couldn't help but again admire his apparition technique. She made a mental note to ask him later on how he avoided the unpleasant ripping sensation.

Looking around, she quickly noticed how close together they were - they seemed to have apparated right into a storage room. Ben removed the silencing charm he had placed on them and smirked at Hermione.

"Cosy, huh?" he commented quietly, looking down at his arm pointedly.

Seeing that she still had hold of him, Hermione removed her hand quickly. "Sorry," she whispered.

He smirked again, before flicking his wand. Hermione frowned as he disappeared from sight, apparently having cast a disillusionment charm. Following his lead, she cast one upon herself too. She took a small step forward, pleased to find that she didn't walk into him before she quickly grew worried. Was he still in the room with her? How was she meant to find him?

Hermione jumped half a foot in the air as she felt a hand with long fingers wrap around her own. " _Shit -_ don't do that!" She demanded in a whisper.

"Why, did I _scare_ you?" A smooth whisper replied.

"What do you think?" She snapped, realising that he hadn't let go of her hand. "Ugh, what are you doing?"

"Do you have a better way of not losing each other? Or did you want to put your hand in my pocket instead?" He questioned with a hint of laughter. "Thought not. Come on, then."

He pulled her through the door toward a dim light coming from down the hall and around the corner. They made their way slowly, careful not to make the old wooden floor creak with their steps. It was a bit of an obstacle course - the hall was almost as cluttered as the storage room they had entered through. Boxes upon boxes lined the walls, many of which were being used as shelves for more mundane things. Hermione made a conscious effort not to bump anything on her way through, though it was rather difficult at some points.

Hermione felt Ben stop moving when they were a few steps away from an old doorway, muffled voices coming from where the light was.

" - he at least say what they're doing?"

"Nah, don't tell me nuthin', they don't."

A snort echoed from the room. "What's he see in Fawley anyway? Pompous prat if I've ever seen one."

"Well 'e's pureblood, innit? Dyin' breed."

Hermione felt Ben pull her downwards, dropping to a crouch. He crept forward slowly to look through the doorway.

"That doesn't mean a thing anymore."

"Be careful 'o you go sayin that to," the second man continued. "Rumour 'as it they're banding together again."

"What would you know?"

"I 'ave ears!"

Hermione lost track of the conversation for a moment, her foot digging into the wall painfully. She moved slightly in an attempt to get more comfortable.

"All I'm saying is, if he ever comes back, I know who I'll be loyal to."

"If Carrigan 'ears you say that, you'll be dead."

"Nah, he's not game to off his own followers. He needs us more than we need him, mark my words."

Another snort echoed through the corridor.

Hermione shifted uncomfortably again, her ankle unable to support her any longer. Her weight shifted back, and she felt herself bump the box behind her. A moment later, a loud smash echoed through the corridor behind her.

Hermione gasped in shock, the sound of which was thankfully hidden by the sound of the fallen lamp behind her. As silence again filled the corridor, she made out a faint breath, which she assumed was a sound of anger coming from Ben.

"What was that?" The first voice asked.

"I'll check it out," the second responded.

Hermione was pulled up quickly by Ben and pushed back down the corridor. Again, the blunder was all hers as she stepped on the remnants of the smashed lamp, and another smash echoed through the corridor. After the second smash, Ben let out a soft growl and pushed her harder, hurrying her down the cluttered corridor.

Just before they had reached the storage room from which they came, a large bearded figure appeared in the corridor behind them, wand raised. She was pulled to an abrupt stop by Ben, worried that she'd knock something _else_ right in front of the man.

"'O's there?" The large man called gruffly, looking around for the source of the noise. He slowly stepped toward them, stopping quickly to inspect the fallen lamp. As Hermione's heart sped up in her chest, she felt Ben move beside her.

At the same time that the first man stepped into the corridor, Ben hurled a stunning spell toward the second. True to his mark, the large man fell unconscious, landing rather unfortunately onto the smashed lamp. Seeing the first man draw his wand, Hermione cast her own stunner with Auror reflexes that she'd forgotten she had. To her relief, the first man followed the second and fell to the ground.

Hermione let out a sigh of relief over the fact that she hadn't accidentally hit Ben with her spell and took a moment to calm her nerves.

"Quickly, come," Ben pulled her back down the corridor toward the two fallen men.

"Wait, what?" She questioned in a whisper.

"This is our chance to find out who they are," he replied quickly, stopping at the bearded man. Seeing his jacket rise in the air, and a wallet fly out of it, Hermione assumed that he was looking for ID. She let go of the grip she had on his arm and made her way to the first man and did the same.

"Lucas Winfield," she stated softly to herself, not recognising the name. She turned back towards where she left Ben and let out an involuntary gasp of surprise. She hadn't expected to _see_ him. "Why can I see you? What if there's more of them downstairs?!"

"There's not," he said, his voice returning to his normal volume. "Let me check out the other room, then we'll get out of here."

Hermione nodded, and then felt rather stupid realising he still couldn't see her. She removed her own charm and followed him into the other room.

Ben spent a while poking around the room, reading a few papers, pocketing a few items. Hermione stood around scowling at her surroundings. She felt quite sorry for them really, even though the people living there were allegedly criminals - it was disgusting. She stifled a snort as she thought that they all must be like Ron - men incapable of casting a scouring charm.

Hermione's gaze travelled to a desk in the corner of the room. The old rickety thing was covered in bottles, many of which she was sure were highly illegal potions and ingredients. A small vial caught her attention, and she squinted in an attempt to make out what the label said.

Her attention was brought away from the vial by a sudden movement in front of her. Her stomach dropped seeing Ben move directly for her, wand raised. He was fast - too fast for her to draw her own wand.

_Oh no._

_This is it._

_I'm done for._

She closed her eyes out of reflex, bracing for impact. She didn't make out the colour of the spell - _was it red or was it green?_

But the impact never came.

She opened her eyes upon hearing a loud thud behind her. She spun around and to her shock, saw a third man with shaggy red hair on the ground behind her. She let out a small whimper of relief.

"What, you didn't think I'd stun my own deputy, did you?" Ben scoffed with something like a smile from behind her. "Really, where is the trust?"

She frowned at him briefly, trying not to let her panic show. "Thanks," she managed to say almost breathlessly.

"Yeah," Ben said before passing her and searching the third man for ID.

She stood awkwardly, hand on her chest, willing her heart to calm back down.

"Alright," Ben said at last, rising from his crouch. "Let's get out of here," he extended his hand back to her. Hermione took it cautiously, happy to get away from the foul surroundings and back to safety.

As they reappeared at the apparition point at the Ministry, Hermione felt so overcome with relief that she didn't pay attention to the fact that he didn't immediately let go of her hand.

They made their way slowly back up to their office, so that Hermione could collect her things and Ben could offload the loot he had stored in his pockets, not speaking on the way back. It was refreshingly quiet through the Ministry, with only the small amount of night staff working throughout the building. She was grateful for the silence in the elevator - it gave her a good chance to calm her nerves back down. She was still so wound up that she didn't have it in her to even scold Ben for not turning in his findings as evidence.

Really what had she been thinking? She'd ruled out him being Voldemort, hadn't she? Of course he wouldn't attack her.

When they reached their floor, Hermione was surprised to see no one in sight at all, the lights of the foyer dim.

"Well, I think it's safe to say that that was one of your worst ideas yet," Hermione announced upon reaching their office.

"What, not a chance! We've got at least four people to look for thanks to me," he defended.

"We could have died! We should have just gone by the books and stormed the place with a team like I suggested."

"They would have known the Ministry was onto them that way," Ben pointed out, emptying his pockets of his loot onto his desk.

"Because they don't now?"

"No. We could have been anyone, they never saw us properly. In fact, I doubt that they'll suspect the Ministry at all this way. They'd _expect_ us to go by the book."

Hermione scoffed and picked up her things from her desk.

"Besides, we weren't at any risk of dying. Both of us are more than capable of using a wand, and I doubt those three morons were any real danger to us."

"Yeah, _three._ 'There aren't any more of them', you said," Hermione said jokingly, ending her sentence with a snort.

Ben shrugged. "He must have only just gotten there."

Hermione made her way towards the office door, stopping one she reached Ben, who was looking at her rather intently.

"You know, we make a pretty good team, you and I," Ben stated with a grin.

Hermione smiled. "I suppose we do. When you're not casting stunners at me, that is."

"Come on, I wasn't aiming for you!"

Hermione laughed.

"How long has it been since you've been on the field like that, anyway?" He asked, adjusting his jacket.

Hermione let out another breath of laughter. "Years. Two, maybe?"

"You were awfully quick with your stunner, I was quite impressed," he continued, his grin returning.

"If only my stealth wasn't so sloppy," she commented.

"You couldn't sneak up on a blind, deaf man if you tried," he laughed, closing some of the distance between them. "Don't worry, you can't be perfect at everything."

"No, not like _you_ ," she teased.

"Well... someone has to set the example," he smirked.

He was close enough that Hermione reached out and punched him in the shoulder jokingly.

His smirk grew into a warm smile as he looked at her, his eyes searching her face. She didn't register him moving even closer as she held his gaze.

 _Really what had she been thinking? This was_ Ben. _Her irritating, charming,_ playful _boss. He couldn't possibly be_ Voldemort. _Voldemort could never have a fraction of the warmness that he does._

She was so distracted by her train of thoughts, that she didn't process it or pull away when he leaned in and brushed her hair back with his fingers.

His fingertips were _warm._ His touch felt _good._ She felt reassured by the tingles she felt from where he touched her. _Voldemort could never be so warm and gentle._

She was still so distracted trying to figure out the puzzle that was the man in front of her, that she didn't even have the urge to stop him when he leaned in further and pressed his lips gently against hers.

The first thing she thought to herself was that his lips were so _soft._ Even with his rugged stubble, his lips were still so soft and warm. She shivered slightly as she felt his hand gently touch her neck as he moved even closer still. She allowed him to deepen the kiss, unable to focus.

He tasted as good as he smelled, answering a subconscious question of Hermione's. Just like his touch, his lips were just _so soft,_ they felt _so right_ , Voldemort would _never_ feel this way. _It simply couldn't be him._

Her whole body felt warm, it all felt so _right,_ not even Ron had ever made her feel so... so...

_Ron?_

She gasped as she suddenly pulled away, attempting to put as much distance between them as she could as reality sunk back in.

"I-I'm sorry," she stammered quickly, touching her lips with her fingertips. She quickly turned on her heel and dashed out of the office.

"Wait - Hermione!" Ben called after her, but she didn't turn back. She made a beeline for the stairs on the far wall, worried that if he followed her, she'd be stuck in an elevator with him.

She hurried down the stairs, quite literally running from her problems, and made her way around near the Ministry entrance, barging into the women's bathroom. She locked herself in a cubicle as soon as she got there, and leaned back against the door, breathing deeply.

 _What had she done? What on earth had come over her? Why didn't she_ think?!

She was smarter than this!

He _kissed_ her, and she had just _stood_ there like she’d been bloody well stunned and _let_ him. Not just any man either, but her _boss_. She had betrayed Ron - he had been jealous and paranoid, and she had denied it and laughed it off, when he had been right to worry all along.

She covered her eyes with her hands. How was she meant to go home and face him? And how on earth was she ever meant to go back to work? She shared an office with Ben. She had to see him every day!

She didn't time how long she stayed there leaning in the toilet cubicle, but by the time she left, she figured it must have been about half an hour. As she exited the Ministry at last, she was grateful to see that Ben wasn't anywhere in sight waiting for her.

She had, somehow, managed to convince herself that it wasn't that bad.

Yes, she had kissed him back, and _yes_ , she had enjoyed it. But, she had absolutely no intention of letting it go any further. She was resolute on nipping it in the bud.

She simply had to be firm with him, and let him know that there was no way anything could ever happen between them. Or rather, anything _else._ She was a married woman, there was just _no way._

It wasn't like she had to tell Ron. It was just a kiss. It didn't mean anything.

She had everything under control... didn't she?

 

* * *

 

The weekend passed Hermione by in a guilt-filled blur. While she’d been able to avoid Ron – who was already asleep – when she got home on the night of the kiss, he’d been unavoidable over the weekend.

Not only had he been unavoidable, but he’d also organised for them to have dinner with Ginny and Harry out at a nice restaurant in Diagon Alley while Mrs. Weasley looked after James. Hermione couldn't think of anything she would rather do less than go to dinner, but what choice did she have?

But as it turned out, it’d been quite easy to enjoy her dinner and put on her normal face, pretending that nothing was wrong. It was only upon returning to Harry and Ginny's house that things began to turn sour.

"It's no wonder he didn't want Aldridge to talk," Harry was ranting, as he often did after a few drinks. "He had to have known something, right? Even though he didn't say anything to you in the end, I have a feeling that wasn't the whole story. He knows more than he's letting on, for sure."

Hermione couldn't withhold her groan.

"Problem?" Harry asked, glaring at her slightly.

She sighed. "We've been through this, Harry. You offering a deal without consulting us is against protocol. I assure you, Ben would have agreed had you simply asked him first."

"Oh, he's 'Ben' now is he?"

"Well that _is_ his name!"

"His name, is Voldemort," Harry stated stubbornly.

"Will you give it a rest already?!" Hermione snapped, feeling surprisingly defensive. "If you must know, I _asked_ him, and Harry, I believe him, _it can't be him_."

"You _asked_ him?!" Harry demanded with a look of outrage.

"I did suggest it, didn't I? You didn't say not to! And his side of the story matches up with Kingsley's," she argued, feeling flustered. "Maybe you should try talking to him yourself, rather than just flinging accusations every which way."

"You do know that this is how he works right?" Harry said, exasperated. "He's manipulating you! First, it's Kingsley, now it's you. Who among the order will be next? He's creating a rift between us!"

"No Harry, _you_ are!"

"Hermione," Ginny said warningly, in an attempt to keep the peace.

She sighed loudly. "Look, I'm sorry. I just - I don't think discussing work right now is the best idea," she tried diplomatically.

"No, you're right, you should probably be going," Harry said with a glare.

"Mate, come on," Ron said, speaking for the first time in a while. "She's right really - remember how stressful work used to be back in the day? You guys just need to step back for a while, fighting isn't getting us anywhere."

Hermione glanced over at her husband, a look of surprise on her face.

"Thank you, Ron," she said timidly, feeling a fresh rush of guilt.

The silence in the room gave Ginny the perfect moment to being up the latest Chudley Cannons' Quidditch game, successfully changing the subject, and ending the shop talk for that night.

Aside from the hiccup of Saturday night, the rest of the weekend passed without a hitch. It was easy enough for Hermione to minimise her interactions with Ron at home, making excuses about doing the laundry, cooking, shopping, etc. She knew that she was being shady, but what else was she to do? Every time he kissed her, she felt an overwhelming amount of guilt, and Merlin forbid what she would do if he tried to initiate _sex._ She simply needed more time to come to terms with Friday night's events, she reasoned.

_It didn't mean anything._

As grateful as she was when the weekend finally ended, returning to work was hardly a better alternative. When Monday morning came around all too quickly, she had to force herself to get ready through a particularly bad case of nerve-induced nausea.  

Still, she Flooed to the Ministry before she had a moment to reconsider owling in sick.

While the build-up had been bad, the elevator trip to her floor was horrible. Her palms were sweaty, and she was sure she must have appeared pale. The doors chimed much too soon – she cursed their mocking happy song – and she took a deep breath before pushing herself out into the foyer.

As she approached her closed office door, she stopped for a moment before reaching for the handle, sure that she must have looked like a complete nutcase. She took a final deep breath and straightened her shoulders in an attempt to feint confidence. She then barged in determinedly and closed the door behind her. She took a few steps in and stood facing Ben who was sat in his usual position at his desk, with his arms behind his head.

"Good morning," he said with a small smile seeing her hands on her hips, appearing completely unfazed.

_Why did he have to smile like that?_

"We need to talk," she stated determinedly before she had a chance to reconsider.

"I dare say we do."

"You kissed me," she forced out.

"Yes."

"It can't happen again."

"Are you sure about that?"

Hermione frowned. "Yes."

"Forgive me if I'm wrong, but you didn't seem to hate it."

"I - that - that's not - _you took me off guard!_ " She retorted, flustered. This was not going as she planned. "As soon as I realised what was happening, I stopped it."

Ben let out a small laugh before rising from his chair. "So you didn't kiss me back?" He asked with a smirk, stepping closer to her.

_Had he always been that tall?_

"I - not intentionally, no," she said, raising her chin.

"You didn't enjoy it?" He asked smoothly, stepping even closer.

The air whistled between her teeth at her sudden intake as she stepped back slightly, growing even more nervous by his proximity.

"No," she said stubbornly, meeting his eyes.

A moment passed as they stared at each other. "Alright," he finally said before slowly stepping back and retaking his seat at his desk.

"A-alright?" She asked, surprised by his sudden acceptance.

"It won't happen again," he clarified.

"Oh. Right," she stated awkwardly. “Good.”

Feeling a little bit unsure of whether it had gone her way or not, Hermione made her way to her desk and sat down feeling much safer behind her half wall.

But as she should have known by now, he wasn’t one for playing by the rules.


	7. Sullivan Fawley

The best word Hermione could use to describe her next few weeks was _weird._ She had gotten her wish - Ben had kept his distance and had been acting as nothing but a professional. And much to her irritation, _she didn't like it._

It wasn't what she had grown used to. There were no more jokes as she arrived at work each day. No longer was she referred to as 'Granger', or 'love'. Each day he greeted her with a polite 'good morning' and spoke to her about nothing but work-related topics.

At first, she hadn't thought too much of it. Surely this was his way of ensuring that _she_ was the one who would attempt to rekindle their 'friendship', and she would certainly _not_ be falling for it. However, two weeks in, and she had begun to doubt her theory. Perhaps she had really offended him? Or maybe his pride had been wounded by rejection? Merlin, perhaps he had genuine _feelings_ for her?

And then Tuesday came. If she had been even slightly intelligent, she would have realised that it wasn't going to be a good day as soon as she spilled her morning coffee on her jacket. But, alas, Hermione was never one for Divination and didn't read into it, simply opting for a quick cleaning charm before heading to the Ministry. She had then been even more foolish to not pay any mind to the memo that collided with the side of her head in the elevator that morning, intending to reach the man behind her.

The next sign that it was going to be a bad day was the squawking she heard from down the hall as she approached her office. Again, thinking nothing of it, she continued on track and entered, as if it were any other day.

It took close to all of her self-restraint to not roll her eyes as she took in the scene of Ben at his usual position behind his desk, with none other than Iris sitting on the desk beside him, with her hand resting flirtatiously on his forearm. Whatever he had said before she entered the office much have been hilarious as the woman was cackling away as Hermione stomped in.

"Ah - good morning," Ben greeted in his usual manner, glancing over at Hermione briefly. Iris gave her a small wave before turning her full attention back to him.

"Morning," Hermione grumbled in response, hoping that Iris and her oversized mouth wouldn't be staying long. She hurried through to her desk, thankful that she didn't get caught up in their conversation on her way and opened her diary to the days' date.

The day didn’t look too bad. She had a few reports to polish off, a meeting with Penrose at 3.30, and-

"- planning a trip to Flourish and Blotts later today, it would be _wonderful_ if you would join me," Hermione couldn't help but be distracted by Iris' disgustingly sweet tone.

"One can never have too many books," Ben's baritone voice responded smoothly. "Maybe this afternoon, love?"

 _Love._ Hermione scowled hearing the pet name.

"Perfect!" Iris' voice echoed. "I'll swing by later, once I'm ready. By the way, that coffee shop you recommended, next door to Gladrags? Fantastic, just as you said."

"Did you try the frozen butterbeer?"

"I did! I can't believe I hadn't been there before. Even better than Madam Puddifoots-"

Hermione massaged her temples as she tried to drown out their overly loud conversation. She felt irrationally angry, knowing that she had absolutely no right to be jealous. But he had been all but ignoring her and she couldn't help but wonder, had he kissed her, too? Who else in the department was he wooing?

She angrily took hold of her muggle pen and started adding to her list of things to be done that day, knowing that this Tuesday was going to be awful.

About half an hour later, Hermione’s patience had all but burned up, leaving her close to pulling her hair out. _Didn't she have her own work to do? Didn't_ he _have things to do?! They were Department Heads for Merlins sake!_

Slamming her pen angrily down on her desk, Hermione got up and stormed out of the office, not allowing herself a glance at the two _buffoons._ She beelined for the lunch room and got herself her second coffee for the day as she mulled over what she was going to do about her predicament.

There was no way she could get a single thing done if they were going to loiter in her office all day. She figured that she could always go and see Harry - before remembering that he was still a bit put out with her at the moment.

_Maybe this would be a good opportunity to smooth things over? But it was he who had the problem, not her!_

_Why was it always her who had to apologise to these men?_

She huffed into her coffee and racked her brain for somewhere else she could go. Perhaps she could head back down to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures for the day, and catch up with all of her old workmates? Better yet, maybe she could have a day in the library?

_Books. Peace. Quiet._

Hermione smiled contentedly just thinking about it.

With a decision made, she quickly finished her coffee, and headed back to the office to grab her things. She was almost disappointed to see that Iris was no longer there when she returned. _Almost._

She still collected her things, figuring that she'd still have a library day anyway – it was still better than being ignored all day _._ She flung her bag over her shoulder and went to head back out.

"Off to the library," she said as she passed Ben. He didn't respond, simply nodded slightly whilst not shifting his gaze from his paperwork.

Hermione closed the door behind her with a bit more force than was required, and headed for the elevator, happy to find that the one that opened for her was empty. However, her pleasure of having the elevator all to herself was rudely interrupted as it chimed on level 5, and _Iris_ , the one she had hoped to _avoid_ , hopped in.

Hermione silently cursed her luck and smiled forcefully at the other woman in greeting.

"Twice in one day, look at that!" Iris said in a shrill tone.

"Yeah, how about that?" Her jaw was close to aching from her clenched teeth.

"I don't know if I've told you before, but you are so _lucky_ to be sharing an office with Mr. Jenkins," she said, looking off blankly into the distance. "He's just _dreamy,_ no?"

"Lucky is one word for it," Hermione laughed nervously, choosing to ignore her second comment. "Say, the two of you seem to be getting along well."

"Oh yes!" She agreed excitedly. "I'm hoping he'll ask me to the end of year function coming up. Imagine that! Two Department heads, _together_ ," she sighed dreamily.

Hermione cleared her throat and almost ran out of the elevator as it chimed for level 8. "Well, I'll see you around!" She called, glad to get away.

 _Hopefully never,_ she added to herself bitterly.

As soon as she made it through the Atrium into the large doors of the library, the smell of the books immediately comforted her. With a happy sigh, she located a quiet corner with a particularly soft-looking armchair to hide herself away in. Once she had sat down and brought her reports out of her bag, she couldn't help but wonder if they could wait, and she could spend a while reading instead.

_They weren't exactly urgent._

Feeling rebellious, she happily picked out a few books and sighed in content.

Hermione found herself losing track of everything around her as she made her way through her books – something which shouldn't have been surprising. She’d quickly become so engrossed in the pages detailing the cursing styles of the Ancient Egyptians, that she didn't realise it had reached midday, and that she'd spent her whole morning reading.

"-mione?"

Hermione's head shot up from her book upon hearing what sounded like her name called in the distance. She looked around for a moment, eyes squinting, but found no one else in sight. Just as she was about to shrug it off as her imagination and return to her reading, a figure rushed into view.

"Thank Merlin, _here_ you are," Ben said, taking in a breath as if he had been running. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

"You could have just sent me a memo, saved yourself the trouble," Hermione said bitterly.

"No time for that, quick, put this away and come with me," he instructed quickly, gesturing to her clutter on the table.

"Why?" She asked suspiciously, closing her books.

"We need to head down to interrogations. There's a witness."

Hermione sped up as she packed her bags. "What's so special about this one?"

"Another 'sighting' of Florian Evrard. This one seems legit."

Hermione stood in a hurry with a small gasp, her interest piqued. Ben lead the way out of the library, Hermione almost jogging to keep up. They didn't speak as they weaved through the Atrium to the elevators.

As they hopped in and the door closed, Hermione couldn't help but feel the tension of being alone with him in such an enclosed space for the first time since he had kissed her. She risked a glance up at him from the corner of her eye, seeing him stare straight ahead at the door as the elevator slowly moved downward. She didn't look away until the elevator chimed for the ninth floor, seeing a small smirk form in the corner of Ben's mouth.

He exited first, leading her down the corridor to interrogations and pulling into room 6. As she entered, her interest was immediately drawn to the wall which was charmed such that it resembled a muggle one-way mirror. In the interrogation room sat a petite blonde woman who appeared to be speaking adamantly with Ashburn, the interrogating Auror.

"Helen Belby," Ben stated, seeing Hermione watching the woman. "Squib. Claims to have spotted Mr. Evrard at a coffee shop west of her home in Slough."

"At a coffee shop? A _muggle_ coffee shop?" Hermione asked incredulously. "I thought you said that this witness sounded legit."

Ben grabbed a stack of papers from a desk to his right and flicked through them, before handing them to Hermione.

"Read lines nine and ten," he instructed.

Hermione sighed as her eyes quickly scanned the parchment.

_'He sat across from a man, that's how I spotted him. My brother went to school with the man he was meeting. What was his name? Um, Fawley... Sullivan Fawley, that's right."_

Hermione gasped and looked back up at Ben, wide eyed.

" _Yeah_ ," he said excitedly, thinking along the same lines as her.

"So... _so_..." Hermione began, her mind running wild. " _Assuming_ this is the same 'Fawley' as Carrigan's men were talking about, then... they were either talking about You-Know-Who the whole time... or - _or -"_

"- he's working for both Carrigan _and_ You-Know-Who," Ben finished for her.

Hermione gasped again.

"If we move fast, we can have a warrant for his arrest by tonight," he said excitedly.

"Yeah!" Hermione agreed, spirits lifted. "What a terrible position to be in, stuck between two dark wizards. And the Fawley's, they've kept themselves out of the last two wars, haven't they?"

"Sure have. Well it's not like it hasn't happened before, right? There was the professor of yours? Wasn't he on both sides?"

"Snape?" Hermione suggested. "That was a bit different though. He was a double agent of sorts for both the light and dark, not _two_ dark sides."

Ben hummed thoughtfully. "Can you get the paperwork together then? The sooner it's done, the sooner I can sign off on it."

"Yeah, I'll get to it straight away."

"And you'll be able to focus better at your desk, don't you think?" Ben asked with a hint of amusement.

"Why, have you missed me?"

"Perhaps," he said unexpectedly.

"Hm," Hermione began nonchalantly, feeling a blush coming along. "Won't you be out with _Iris_ this afternoon?"

Ben scoffed. "I certainly hope not."

"But you told her you would go!"

"That doesn't mean that I actually will," he countered. "Why, is someone _jealous?_ " He added with a quirked eyebrow.

"What? Don’t be absurd,"she retorted a little too quickly.

"All you have to do is say so, you know," he continued, his raised eyebrow staying put. "And I'll send her away."

"Why would I admit to something that I'm not?  It _is_ possible to dislike someone without being jealous," she pointed out.

"Hm, suit yourself," he said, returning his focus to the view of Helen waving her arms around as she spoke to Ashburn. "Ashburn and I will finish off the reports for Ms. Belby's statements. That should make it a bit easier for you to get the warrant together."

"Thanks," she said coldly and took that as her cue to leave. Although irritated, Hermione did return to the office, happy that he seemed to finally be coming around.

But what did it mean? ' _All you have to do is say so, and I'll send her away'_. Had he brought Iris in, to try and make her jealous? The more Hermione pondered it, the more she believed it. Perhaps this was his was of testing the waters, of finding out how she felt about him. Either that, or it was his way to _drive her mad._

Well, it wasn't going to work. Or, at the very least, _she wasn't going to let him know that it was working._

 

* * *

 

Hermione shot up later that night as a sudden, loud tapping from her bedroom window interrupted her sleep. A groan from beside her told her that Ron had also been woken up. Looking over and stumbling out of bed, she made out a large dark owl frantically pecking at the window. Hermione rubbed her eyes with one hand and pulled the window open with the other, allowing the bird to enter. It hopped onto her dresser and stuck its leg out, which had a small note attached to it. Hermione removed the roll of parchment, and the large owl hopped back out of the window.

"Wha' is it?" Ron mumbled from the bed, half asleep.

Hermione didn't answer as she unrolled the parchment, frowning as she tried to read it in the dim light.

_Granger -_

Hermione cracked a small smile seeing him refer to her in his usual manner again.

_\- we have Fawley in interrogation room 10. Come in as soon as you can. Sorry to interrupt your sleep. - Ben_

Hermione felt a sudden rush of adrenaline and hurried to her closet to find something to wear.

"What are you doing?" Ron asked, as he sat up and switched on his bedside light.

"It was a letter from the Ministry," Hermione stated as she pulled a shirt over her head. "They have a suspect in custody, ready for questioning."

" _What_ , and they can't wait until morning?"

"This is a very important suspect," Hermione explained, jumping a little as she pulled up her pants.

"B-but it's not even three a.m.! Surely you can sleep a little more? Can't they do it without you?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and slipped on her shoes. "No, Ron."

Ron also rolled his eyes and huffed at her, before switching off the light and rolling over in the bed.

Hermione left the dark room in a hurry, slightly irritated. _How did he not understand that this was the_ Voldemort _case? This was most important case in the country! Of course it couldn't wait!_

She rushed to the fireplace, quickly charming her hair on the way down and immediately Floo-ed to the Ministry, not bothering to check on her reflection in the mirror.

Hermione was panting by the time she made it through the doorway to interrogation room 10, slightly surprised to see Ben sitting with Harry, sipping their coffees in silence and _not_ yelling at each other.

"Oh good, you're here!" Ben said immediately as he sat up, sounding surprisingly chipper for three o'clock in the morning.

"We decided to wait until you got here to start," Harry said with a yawn, gesturing to the wall to his left.

Through the wall, Hermione saw a light-haired man who looked about her age sitting in the interrogation room alone. He was fidgeting nervously, scratching at his own hands.

"The two of us will be heading in," Harry continued. "Here, a list of the questions," he handed her a long sheet of parchment.

"You won't be joining us?" Hermione asked her boss.

"No, I'll be recording from out here. The two of you are technically in charge of both of the cases, it's only fair that you do the questioning."

Hermione nodded, quickly scanning over their list of questions. After a moment, she nodded again.

"Alright, shall we?" She asked.

Harry rose to his feet and led the way into the interrogation room. They took their seats across the table from Fawley.

"Mr. Fawley," Harry began. "I'm Head Auror, Harry P-"

"I know you," he cut off. His eyes darted toward Hermione. "I know you both."

"Well that saves that," Harry cleared his throws and rearranged his papers. "Mr. Fawley. You've been brought in today for questioning regarding an investigation involving a Mr. Florian Evrard?"

"Look," he started nervously, his hands slightly shaking. "I'll tell you what I know. J-just promise me - don't let me go."

"Excuse me?" Hermione asked, raising her eyebrows in concern.

"I can't -" he started. "You can't let me go. They'll know. They always know."

"Mr. Fawley -"

" _Please._ You - _you_ have to understand. They'll kill me. Even if I don't talk, they will. _Please._ "

"We have thorough witness protection programs in place, Mr. Fawley. They're very thorough, you won't have anything to fear," Hermione explained gently.

Fawley nodded, though it was clear that he didn't quite believe her.

"Due to the severity of this case, Mr. Fawley, we'd like for you to drink this before we begin," Harry brought out the familiar vial of Veritaserum and placed it in front of Fawley.

He looked at it for a moment, seeming to ponder whether he should drink it or not. After a tense minute, he reached out and uncorked the vial, swallowing its contents with a cough.

Harry and Hermione glanced at each other, silently deciding who would begin the questioning.

"Alright," Harry started. "I'd like to begin by asking you whether you know of a Mr. Elliot Selwyn?"

"Yes, I knew Elliot."

"Do you have any knowledge about his death?"

"Killed in that alley, across from the Royal Oak, right?"

"Indeed."

"Look - it wasn't me, alright?" He gushed earnestly. "I don't - I don't know who did it."

After his last statement, Fawley began to twitch more vigorously. He softly groaned, seeming to try to fight the effects of the Veritaserum.

"It's true, I don't!" He insisted. "Look, you have to understand. Those of us who have followed Carrigan, most are, or _were_ , followers of the Dark Lord. Many claim to be in still be in contact with him, but of course, most of them are full of shit. It's hard to say who went after Selwyn. There were about ten of us there that night. It could have been any one of them."

His twitching calmed down and he sighed after his spill.

Harry glanced at Hermione before looking back at his parchment.

"When you said 'there were about ten of us', _where_ were you referring to?"

"Winfield's place. It's off of that alleyway Selwyn was found in. It's where we meet."

"Winfield?"

"Lucas Winfield. Thug. Close 'friend', I suppose you could say, of Carrigan's."

Hermione sat up a little bit straighter upon recognising the name.

"We were all there that night, the night Selwyn was offed," Fawley continued. "Any one of the others could have snuck out and done it."

"Was Mr. Selwyn another follower of Carrigan's? Is that why he was there that night?"

"I - no," Fawley paused in an attempt to stop himself talking. He twitched again for a moment before sighing. "He came around a few times, claiming to have messages from the Dark Lord. _Warnings_ , more like. Needless to say, he didn't have any friends among us. Looked down on us, he did. But that night, he was panicked, came asking for our help, our _protection._ As you can imagine, we said no."

"'Warnings'?" Hermione queried.

"Yeah. Messages to back off and such."

"So..." Hermione began, trying to piece it all together. "You - Carrigan's followers, that is - you're not working with You-Know-Who?"

Fawley shook his head.

"Not exactly. The first few times we heard Selwyn's 'messages', we thought them lies," Fawley explained. "But then... They kept coming. And not just from Selwyn. Abbott, Hopkins, Burke, they all started coming forward with messages of their own. Carrigan started taking them seriously, doing as they said. And then Florian reached out to _me_ , too. That's when _I_ realised, they must have been legit. Why else would he be one of the most wanted men in Britain?"

"So, when you were seen with Mr. Evrard, at that muggle cafe... what were you discussing?" Hermione continued.

"Another message to pass onto Carrigan."

"Which was?"

Fawley cleared his throat.

"An instruction," he stated, avoiding answering the question.

"For what?"

Fawley glanced up, meeting Harry's eyes.

"To kill Harry Potter."


	8. When Plans Fall Through

Hermione all but dragged Harry out of the interrogation room. Harry initially tried to protest, but quickly gave in, not wanting to argue with a co-worker in front of a suspect. As soon as they made it out of the interrogation room and Hermione closed the door on Fawley, Harry turned to her.

"What are you doing, we have to keep questioning, we're not done yet!" He protested.

"Harry, he just told us that Carrigan's men have been instructed to _kill you_!"

"And I heard him! But how is this any different to what I'm used to? Voldemort has been out free for seven years! I've been living with the threat of being murdered most of my life, I'd be more surprised if someone _wasn't_ trying to kill me!"

"But this is different, you have a _family_ now!" She insisted. "Think of James."

"She's right, Potter. Go home, find yourself a secret keeper if you don't have one, and protect your family," Ben interjected.

Harry frowned at Ben for a moment and tensed his jaw, as if he were holding back saying something. Seeming to think better of it, Harry gave them a small nod in surrender, and hurried out of the room.

Hermione bit her lip nervously.

"You-Know-Who was always so adamant to kill Harry himself," she thought aloud, "why would he change his mind about it now?"

"Perhaps he's simply given up on it? It didn't go so well for him the last few times he tried, eh?" Ben suggested with a laugh.

"Yeah..." Hermione agreed, her mind still wandering.

Ben sighed and folded his arms over his chest.

"Well, we still need to finish the questioning. Will you be alright by yourself?" He asked, interrupting her thoughts.

"Yeah, not a problem. He seems fairly harmless."

"Alright. I'll be right out here."

She smiled timidly and headed back into the interrogation room, choosing to take the seat Harry had left directly opposite Fawley.

"Mr. Fawley," she began. "Have you told anyone else about your... instruction?"

"No. I haven't had the chance," he said. "But like I said, they'll know that I've been brought in. Florian is bound to pass it to someone else."

"And, do you know where we might be able to find Mr. Evrard?"

"No," Fawley answered quickly, looking at his hands. "But I know _how_ to find him."

Hermione fought a smile at his response. "By that, you mean you will agree to helping us find him?"

"Yeah, _so long as_ I'm protected," he replied, his previous nervousness showing again.

"Of course," Hermione agreed. "And before we finish, are you able to tell us the identity of the wizard calling himself 'Carrigan'?"

"You - you don't know?" Fawley asked, seeming surprised. "I just mean - that's his name. Carrigan I mean, Lewis Carrigan. Claims to be the bastard son of Alphard Black and a muggle mother. Hellbent on bringing honour back to the 'noble House of Black'. Codswallop if you ask me. Not to mention if the Blacks knew of him, he'd have been disowned, being half-blood. But hey, most of the others seem to believe it."

Once all of the questions were finished, Hermione exited the interrogation room to find Ben seated, frowning through the wall towards Fawley. Seeing his frown, her smile faltered.

"Wha - what's wrong?" She asked, slightly worried that she'd forgotten a question.

He let out a breath through his nostrils. "We _questioned_ Lewis Carrigan. He was _cleared_ ," he sighed. "I'm going to have to go see Penrose about this today, this is _completely_ unacceptable. No wonder we look like a department full of morons."

Hermione patted him on the shoulder.

"On the plus side, hopefully he'll lead us to Evrard," she chimed in happily. "Maybe even Carrigan, too."

He leaned back in his chair. "Yeah, I suppose you're right. Hey, you want some breakfast? The others won't be starting for a good couple of hours yet."

This time it was Hermione who was frowned. "Haven't you been here _all night?_ Don't you need _sleep?_ "

He shrugged.

"I work best under pressure."

"What about Fawley?"

"He can stay in there a while, a bit of waiting won't hurt the fellow," he said dismissively, pulling out a memo from his jacket. He scribbled something on the yellow slip and proceeded to toss it toward the door, where it took flight and turned down the corridor. He sat facing the door for a minute before one of the guards from down the hall poked his head in.

"Albert, can you do us a favour and watch Mr. Fawley for a while? We should be an hour or two," he asked.

The guard nodded and entered the room while Ben rose to his feet.

"Alright," Ben gestured to Hermione with his head for her to follow him out.

Hermione jogged out after him and trailed him down the corridor.

"So, where are we going?" She asked with a yawn.

"Down Diagon Alley, there's a 24-hour coffee shop-"

"-next to Gladrags?" She suggested, finishing his sentence with a knowing smile.

"Eavesdropper," he accused with a smirk. "It _is_ my favourite."

She laughed. Being almost four a.m., they didn't have to wait long for an elevator, which chimed almost immediately after Ben pushed the call button.

Hermione felt him looking down at her as they stood awkwardly in the elevator.

"So," she started in a bid to break the silence, "you're speaking to me again?"

"I was never not speaking to you," he stated quickly.

Hermione snorted. "Yes, you were."

"Don't be silly," he held the elevator door open at the Atrium and gestured for Hermione to lead the way. "I was merely keeping a respectful distance as per your request."

"And you're not doing that anymore?"

He smirked and remained silent as he led the way out to the apparition point. Upon reaching the small courtyard, he turned to Hermione and extended his hand out to her. As she looked up to him, he winked.

"Stop it, or I'm not going anywhere," she said warningly, feeling unable to handle his flirting so early in the morning.

He laughed and swapped his hand for his elbow.

"You're quite adorable when you're angry," he commented once she took his arm. Before she had a chance to scold him for his words, she was pulled into the pressure of apparition.

Hermione huffed as the pressure released her once more. She took in her new surroundings and yanked her arm back quickly and stepped away from Ben, shooting a scowl in his direction.

They had reappeared towards the outskirts of Diagon Alley. Being such an early hour of the morning, the street was dark and deserted, lit only by a small number of lanterns lining the shopfronts. To Hermione's right, a coffee shop with lit up windows stood, resembling a cottage more than a cafe.

Ben gestured with his head towards the small building, and she followed closely, the cold wind quickly numbing her ears. A bell on the front door chimed as they entered, the only other occupants of the cafe being a small woman behind the counter who nodded in greeting, and a cloaked man in the corner sipping a large coffee.

"Take a seat anywhere, my loves," the short woman called to them with a warm smile. "Is there anything I can get for you?"

"Two large cappuccinos to start with, Helga, thank you," Ben responded for them, and led the way to a table for two next to the front window.

As they took their seats, Hermione couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt. Still, this was purely friendly, right? After all, they'd been up almost all night and had to eat.

Sinking comfortably into her chair, Hermione tried to ignore her nagging conscience. She looked around the cafe, taking in its black and while decor, determined to look everywhere but at her boss.

"I was thinking," Ben began, forcing her to face him. "Potter's approach may have been right."

Hermione's eyebrows shot up as high as her muscles would allow.

"I mean, a deal will probably be the best way to go," he clarified. "If we can get Fawley to take us to Evrard, or even Carrigan, they could-"

"Lead us to You-Know-Who," Hermione finished with a growing smile. "But I'm not sure whether they'd be willing to take that sort of risk... Fawley seems small-time compared to Evrard. Surely they'd be far more afraid of You-Know-Who than _us._ "

"Hmm," Ben hummed thoughtfully. "Unless they do what Fawley's done and use us for protection."

She nodded, mulling his words over.

"Perhaps we need an inside man," Hermione suggested, "the way that Dumbledore had Snape. It might be the only way. We don't even know what we're up against, really. Sure, his horcruxes are gone, but who knows what he's been up to all of these years. Perhaps he had a backup plan of sorts."

"And he might have found a way to restore his immortality," Ben pondered aloud, followed by a thoughtful sigh. "Yeah... after all, why would he come back to Britain, to where _Harry Potter_ is, if he didn't have a plan?"

She nodded and was interrupted from her train of thought when the lady - Helga - brought their coffees to the table along with two breakfast menus. She gave her her thanks, and immediately took her coffee in her hands to warm her cold fingertips.

"Well, we'll see what Fawley can do. We'll set it up with a team, see if we can finally catch the elusive Mr. Evrard," he continued as he stirred in the powdered chocolate on top of his coffee.

Hermione put hers down, feinting shock. "Woah. First you say that Harry was right, _now_ you're saying we should go in for Evrard with a team - _by the books._ Who are you and what have you done with the real Ben Jenkins?"

"Your goodness must be rubbing off on me," he teased.

She scoffed and went in for a sip of her coffee. She almost moaned as the liquid gold passed through her mouth. Where would she be without coffee?

He glanced up at her. As his eyes met her face he immediately snorted and had to cover his mouth with his hands to stop himself blowing his own coffee all over their table. Once he had willed himself to swallow it, he burst out in laughter.

" _What?_ " Hermione asked indignantly.

"You have-" he paused as he laughed again. "You have a little moustache. Just there," he pointed to the left of her face.

She scowled and rubbed her lip, finding a patch of milk froth.

"It's a good look for you," Ben continued, still laughing.

" _Shut up_ ," she snapped quickly, trying not to give in and laugh too.

Ben didn't reply, and wiped under his eyes, calming down from his laughter.

Hermione's lips formed a thin line for a moment before she took another sip of her coffee, this time careful not to get any on her upper lip.

"You're quite beautiful this time of morning," Ben continued, his comment coming out of the blue.

Hermione quirked an eyebrow in surprise, still feeling more self-conscious than _beautiful_.

"Your hair is all bushy, and your cheeks, right here -" he leaned across and poked at her cheek, "are all pink from the cold-"

"Ben -" she began warningly, swatting away his hand.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, I'm sorry," he said, raising his hands in the air defensively. "I just - ah, never mind."

Hermione looked down and fiddled with her napkin, trying to silence her conscience. Though, before long, curiosity got the better of her.

"You just what?"

He sighed. "We're just, always on the same page, you know? I just, feel drawn to it, I guess. It's nice, having someone there who knows where my mind is going without needing to explain it."

Hermione nodded, averting her gaze. She wholeheartedly agreed with him - not that she was going to let him know that.

"I know it's the same for you," he continued, seeing that she wasn't going to reply. "I see how you talk to Harry, always a few steps ahead. It must be _exhausting_ , and I'm sure _Mr. Weasley_ isn't any bet-"

"You don't know what we're like," she interrupted defensively.

"Yeah, okay, you're right, I don't," he said, surrendering once more. "But I _do_ know that I'm not the only one at this table feeling like this."

Hermione put her napkin down and stood up, making to leave. The best way - _the only way_ \- she knew how to deal with this kind of situation was to leave. She hurried out, her empty stomach being the last thing on her mind. The cool air of Diagon Alley came back into contact with her cheeks as she darted out, exaggerating her blush.

She cursed herself for agreeing to come here with him. _What did she think would happen? She had been foolish to believe it was only an innocent breakfast to him._

"Hey, wait -" Ben had to jog to reach her. "We didn't even get breakfast!"

She kept walking, not acknowledging him following her.

He groaned in frustration and grabbed her arm, pulling her to a halt. "Can you stop running?"

"I'm _not_ -" she began stubbornly before changing her mind. "Do you have any idea of what an uncomfortable situation you're putting me in?"

"And what about _me_? I'm not exactly having a picnic here myself."

"What _about_ you? I'm a married woman, you can't just _come in_ and -"

"An _unhappily_ married woman."

" _You don't know that!_ "

"Darling, everyone with _eyes_ knows that! Even that blasted magazine, _Witch Weekly_ knows that!"

It was true. Speculation over the brightest witch of the age's marriage had been a popular topic of the gossip magazine ever since they signed the paperwork.

"That's not my name!" She protested weakly as she continued to stomp off around the corner.

"Oh, _come on_ , at least _talk_ to me about this!" He called with an eye roll, still trailing after her.

"There's nothing to _talk_ about-"

Her words were cut off by the sensation of being pushed up against the cold stone wall of the alley they had turned down. She was about to protest but found herself silenced.

His second kiss wasn't nearly as gentle as the first one, and it also didn't come as much of a surprise. _This was his way of making his point_. Even knowing this, Hermione's will power quickly crumbled as his large hands rose and cupped her cheeks, while his body pressed against hers. In the cold, they felt so warm, and made her feel so _safe_. For a few moments, she allowed herself to get lost in it, _in him,_ as she kissed him back.

She laced her hands around the back of his neck and drew him as close as she could. Her actions prompted a soft moan to escape from the back of Ben's throat. _A beautiful sound she wanted to hear again and again._

But it also brought her to her senses - _what was she doing?_

Yet, he beat her to the punch of pulling away and brought her hands down from his neck with his own.

"No," he commented in a breathless whisper, "nothing at all to talk about."

He took a few steps back from her, turned on the spot and apparated away.

Hermione shivered as she stood alone in the side street, staring into the space that he had occupied.

Not all of her shivers were from the cold.

 

* * *

 

Although Hermione wasn't due to start work until eight a.m., she decided that she'd rather go back to work than head back home, to where Ron was. She had chosen the long walk back to the Ministry over apparition, grateful for the time alone. Even if her extremities protested with each step, it was still preferable to returning in a hurry.

This time, there were no excuses to be made. She had kissed him, and she had liked it. She had known what she was doing, and had still actively betrayed Ron, not once, _but twice._

Hermione held her hands to her head as she walked, wishing she still had her time-turner from her Hogwarts days. But would she choose differently if given the chance? Now that she knew what his kisses were like, how they gave her butterflies just thinking about them, and _how warm they were?_

She groaned.

She would have done it over and over.

But _did_ she have that choice? She certainly didn't want an _affair,_ but, the strength of her growing feelings for Ben were really taking her off guard.

_She could always leave Ron..._

She shook that thought off as soon as it crossed her mind. Leaving Ron would mean leaving her _family_. The Weasleys were almost all she had for friends in the wizarding world these days, aside from Luna and Neville. Sure, she had a _few_ friends within the Ministry, but none she felt overly close with. And Ginny was her _best friend_ , who surely wouldn't forgive her for leaving her brother. And Harry... she wasn't sure about Harry. He'd been there for both of them when she and Ron had fought in the past, but it had always put a strain on their friendship. And if she were no longer friends at all with Ron, she wasn't sure how Harry would handle it, especially being married to Ginny.

Besides, _she loved Ron._

...didn't she?

Not to mention, all of this assumed that Ben actually wanted a relationship with her. Pondering his motives was almost driving her _insane_. He surely wanted something, but Hermione wasn't sure if it was just a fling, or something more. Perhaps he simply enjoyed the excitement of trying to seduce a married woman?

' _I know I'm not the only one at this table feeling like this,'_ he had said. _That_ had to mean something, didn't it? He had said that he liked that they were always on the same page, that he was _drawn_ to it... that meant there was something there, other than attraction, _surely. And_ he had said that he'd turn Iris away...

_But he had said 'it', not 'you'._

She groaned again as she turned another corner, fairly close to the visitor's entrance to the Ministry now.

There was no denying it - she was falling for her boss. And falling hard, she was.

 

* * *

Assuming that Ben was back downstairs with Fawley, Hermione took advantage of the empty office. With her feet up on the side of her desk, she threw herself into her remaining reports. She figured that because she had started so early, if she got everything done, she'd be able to leave early. That would give her a few hours with the house to herself, and distance from both of the men in her life would do her some good.

Unfortunately, her plans didn't seem like they'd come to fruition as Ben hurried in almost precisely when the clock chimed eight.

"I've had a word with Kingsley," he announced as he approached her straight away, taking her off guard. "He's consented to allowing Mr. Fawley to contact Evrard via owl. The plan is to set up a meeting between the two of them, with a team keeping watch. The trouble is, of course, the location. We can't choose a muggle area in case we're spotted, and a fight breaks out, and we also can't choose a wizarding area as Evrard would never agree to it, being so highly wanted and all."

Hermione merely nodded as he spoke, surprised that he hadn't gone back to avoiding her.

"So, I'm thinking; we arrange it for a muggle area, but an open, secluded one. That way, we can keep track of any muggles who wander a bit too close, and Obliviating them shouldn't be too difficult," he continued.

"But what if Evrard dictates the meeting point?" She chimed in.

"Well, we'll cross that bridge if and when we come to it," he said, pulling a folded sheet of parchment from his jacket pocket. "Here, I've jotted down some names for the team, I don't really mind who else you choose, as long as you make it up to twelve. Just _not Edwards_ , for the love of Merlin."

She took the sheet and quickly skimmed over it.

"What about Harry?" She asked, not seeing his name among the list.

"We sent him home. This could happen as early as _tonight_ , depending on the reply we get."

Hermione's stomach dropped as he mentioned the word 'tonight'.

"But, it's his case, too," she protested weakly.

"This is the lead we've been hoping for, I'm not waiting on his account," Ben stated surely, appearing unfazed by the prospect of staying up for _another_ night. "Besides, why would we bring him along to apprehend someone who wants to kill him?"

She sighed.

"I'll add him for now, and we'll replace him if he's not here on time. Alright?" Hermione suggested diplomatically.

"Fine. I'll be downstairs with Fawley if you need anything," he agreed, before turning and stepping away from her. "And Hermione?"

"Mhmm?" She looked back up from her parchment, meeting his gaze.

He opened his mouth as if to say something, before closing it and raising his hand to the back of his head. For a moment, he almost looked... _vulnerable._

Hermione felt her expression soften involuntarily, taking him in. With his one sad look, the memories of that morning that had been plaguing her came rushing back, and she couldn't help but wish that she had handled it differently. Had she stayed and talked it out, perhaps this would be easier on both of them. Maybe that was what they both needed, to get everything out in the open. Knowing how he felt would surely bring her closure... _or make things worse._

"Ah - never mind," he blurted, as if he was again on the same wavelength as she was. He turned, and without another word, he left the office.

Hermione exhaled slowly, throwing her head back to stare at the ceiling.

_What on earth was she going to do?_

 

* * *

 

Thanks to the lack of an immediate response from Florian Evrard, Hermione's wish was granted, and she was able to go home early that day. However, her conscience did not let her enjoy her extra time one bit. She had long forgotten her previous irritation with Ron, and once he returned home, she ignored her guilt and allowed herself to be taken up in his arms.

Yet, when she did, she registered that it was simply _comfortable,_ nothing more _._

No butterflies were felt, his voice did not give her chills.

_Not like his did._

She then spent the whole night tossing and turning with guilt, running over the previous day's events non-stop. To make matters worse, every time she _did_ manage to doze off, her dreams were plagued with images of her boss, and they had become... _heated._

The plaguing memories of his hands, his body and _Merlin,_ his _lips_ were playing in her mind on repeat.

In a state of exhaustion, Hermione forced herself out of bed once the clock hit six, and proceeded to take a long, cool shower. She hadn't felt so awful in years. Not only was the guilt overwhelming, but the feeling of crushing on someone she couldn't have was horrible. It was true that over the course of her relationship with Ron, she had had her share of small crushes. But they were _nothing_ compared to this. This time, her feelings felt _heavy_ , they were driving her _mad._ And if she was brutally honest, she couldn't remember feeling this way about Ron.

She uttered her goodbyes to her husband as she went to leave the house, who sent her a concerned look in return. He knew something was up, but in typical Ron fashion, he seemed to have chosen to wait until she decided that she wanted to talk about it.

She arrived at the Ministry feeling drained, putting little effort into greeting her co-workers as she trudged through. She dragged herself up to her office, greeting Ben with a small wave in the hopes of avoiding a conversation. He seemed to take her hint, and left her alone - for a most of the day, at least.

Late that afternoon, after she had begun to chip away at her mountain of paperwork (which she was getting _absolutely nowhere_ with), he practically ran through the office over to her desk.

"He's written back," he stated and darted back out the office where he came from.

Hermione's eyes popped open in surprise and shot up to chase after him. As she made it into the foyer, she saw him dash around through to the investigation office. Using the small bit of adrenaline that had begun to course through her veins, she followed him in a jog, stopping upon reaching Harry's office.

Having heard the news, Harry was barking orders to a handful of Aurors who had gathered around to the far wall. Ben had made his way over, and upon reaching them gestured for the group to move to the front of the room where he had taken stance. Hermione entered the room last and closed the door behind her.

"All accounted for?" Ben asked, directing the question to Harry.

"Yes," he responded at once.

"Alright. _Listen up!_ " The rooms attention turned to Ben. "We'll be heading out to a muggle pub known as 'The Squirrel'. It should go without saying that being occupied by muggles, you are _not to use magic unless you have no other option._ Smith, MacDougal - the two of you will be on watch for muggles. You will be held personally accountable for any and _all_ muggles whom witness any magical activity, and do not get obliviated. Potter, Ashburn, Weasley and I will be situated in the front room of the pub, while Finch, Ogden and Peakes; you'll be in the back. Finally, Vane, Renshaw, Wood - you three will be positioned out in the street, in case our man does a runner."

Hermione lost focus on his words for a moment, getting caught over the fact that he had called her 'Weasley'. It sounded almost... _wrong_ , coming from him.

"I will say it one final time - _you are not to be seen._ Particularly, _you two,_ " Ben's eyes turned to Harry and Hermione, the latter taking in a small breath as she met his eyes. "As two of the most recognisable witches and wizards in the country, you'll need to put extra effort into ensuring Evrard _does not see you._ "

Hermione nodded, having already heard this part of the lecture twice already. She had a large fluffy scarf and a pair of oversized spectacles waiting in her handbag to disguise herself.

She looked to her feet and zoned out for the rest of his briefing, nerves building. The prospect of coming out to apprehend the main suspect in the Voldemort case would have excited her beyond belief a few weeks ago, but now her exhaustion was overpowering any happiness she might have felt.

Once Ben had finished his lecture, he began to dismiss the Aurors in groups. The plan was to head in group by group in an attempt to act as casual as possible, with their group heading in last, and Fawley being escorted in by MacDougal and Smith.

Their group was dismissed last and together they headed down to the Atrium where their portkey awaited. The wait with Harry, Ben and Ashburn was not what Hermione would call pleasant. She tried to avoid small talk in an attempt to focus on the task ahead, however Ben and Ashburn seemed rather keen on it.

"-Montrose Magpies are doing well this year. If they manage to beat the Harpies this week, we'll make top spot on the ladder!" Ashburn was saying.

Hermione attempted to drown it out - she had never been one for Quidditch. Not to mention, it was almost impossible to ignore Ben with him making conversation so close to her. He was so beautiful, it was almost criminal.

"Hey, don't worry," Harry said softly from her left, making her jump out of her train of thought. "You look tense. Don't worry, it'll go to plan. These things always do."

Her eyes softened. _As if_ _it was only their job that was making her tense._

Before she could respond, Ben excused himself from his conversation with Ashburn and gestured for them to follow. He lifted a book and extended it towards them.

"This is the portkey. Take hold, it's due to leave any minute now."

They stood clustered around the book only for a second or two before the pulling of the portkey took hold.

The uncomfortable but familiar feeling of the portkey was thankfully short lived. Once the hold around her navel released, Hermione steadied herself as she took in her new surroundings of a cobbled side street. Appearing unfazed by their travel, Ben began making his way down the street, Harry following close behind with a small glare directed to his boss' back. Hermione dug into her bag and fished out her oversized glasses and scarf and put them on, before hurrying to keep up with the others. She also handed over a large, black beanie to Harry who foolishly hadn't brought anything for himself. He scowled at it, but proceeded to put it on all the same.

As they rounded a corner, Ben stopped and turned to face them, blocking their path with his arms.

"I'll say it one final time-"

" _Don't be seen_ , yeah we get it," Harry interrupted with an eye roll.

"Alright," Ben conceded with narrowed eyes. "Let's get on with it then."

He led the way around another corner toward the entrance to the small pub. They filed in through the large wooden doorway, passing the other Aurors as they went and followed Ben through the entry hall over to a table for four by the walkway. Once she had taken her seat, Hermione's eyes met Ben's, who was gesturing subtly over to the far side of the room toward the fireplace. She followed his gaze, seeing Fawley sitting nervously at a table by himself. He was clearly very anxious, picking at his own fingers and shivering slightly.

"How long do we have?" Harry asked after a few moments of silence.

"Evrard suggested 7 o'clock in his letter," Ben responded, looking down at his wrist watch. "He should be here any minute now."

And so, they waited, making light small talk as they sat. They were interrupted by a waitress twice, who seemed afraid to return after having been shooed away by Ashburn both times. Hermione sipped at her water awkwardly as the others chatted, attempting to calm her nerves.

A solid fifteen minutes later, Hermione's irritated gaze searched around Fawley, not seeing anyone even slightly resembling their pictures of Evrard anywhere nearby. _Wasn't he meant to be here by now?_

Her attention was brought back to their informant by a sudden loud cough he let out. Fawley looked a bit ill for a moment, but seemed to recover quickly after coughing it out.

A short while later, he began to cough again, though this time more intensely. He pushed his chair back and folded himself over, his head down between his knees as he gasped for breath between coughs. Hermione straightened, and looked toward Ben questioningly. _Perhaps he was having a panic attack?_

All of Ben's attention was on Fawley, and dread was written on his face.

 _But surely all would be fine? He might just be getting sick? There was no reason to worry, unless he had been cursed. They would have noticed had he been cursed._ Hermione's eyes flickered to Fawley's table, where a tall bottle of half-drunken table water sat.

 _Unless somehow, he had been_ poisoned.

Hermione gulped.

Another moment filled with Fawley's wheezing passed before Ben seemingly made the same connection that she had, and shot up from the table and dashed over to him.

Across the room, Ben helped Fawley out of his chair and laid him down on the solid floor. Fawley's gasping had become louder, his hands clawing at his own neck, drawing the attention of the muggles in the dining area. Ben gestured over at them, and Hermione ran over in response, leaving Harry and Ashburn at their table.

"What - what's happening? Is he alright?" She asked, crouching down beside Fawley.

"I don't know," he said, trying to turn Fawley on his side to help clear his airway. " _Fuck_ , is he having an asthma attack?"

"Should I-" Hermione's words were cut off by a strangled noise from Fawley, whose face was turning blue. He struggled for a bit, before his eyes lost focus and he lost consciousness.

" _Shit, what do we do?_ "

"Do you know many healing spells? _CPR?_ " Hermione asked desperately, reaching a hand out to check Fawley's pulse. He wasn't breathing.

"Nothing for asphyxiation."

Not responding, Hermione shoved him aside to begin mouth to mouth. Hopefully it _was_ a panic or asthma attack. If it was _poison,_ her attempts would be useless. She inwardly cursed herself for not loading up her bag with antidotes, or even a bezoar.

Behind them, Harry whistled and bolted up from his chair, chasing after a man in a black hoodie who had ran from the pub. Ashburn trailed behind, followed by the Aurors from the back room. Half of them followed their leader blindly, not having seen the man in the distance who Harry had spotted.

Ben shot up, leaving Hermione to deal with Fawley by herself, and turned to apparate without any regard to the muggles surrounding them. Had she not been busy trying to breathe life into another man, she would have groaned at the sheer stupidity of it.

Reappearing out in the cobbled street close behind the running man and in front of Harry, Ben immediately broke into a run, drawing his wand. As he ran, he lobbed a stunning spell over his shoulder, hitting its mark.

He continued at a run until he reached the stunned man, flipping him over to see his face. Ben frowned as he recognised the man from Carrigan's place who Hermione had identified - _Lucas Winfield_.

Behind him, Harry let out a yell to warn him of the upcoming threat. From the other direction down the street, four more men dressed in black cloaks stepped out, wands raised. Ben didn't have the time to put up any defences before curses were firing toward the Aurors, instead opting for dodging the incoming spells. Ashburn however wasn't so quick, and didn't have a chance as a particularly nasty looking blue curse hit him square in the chest, bowling him over.

Without taking time to assess Ashburn's condition, Ben joined Harry and the other three Aurors in the defence against their attackers. Although they outnumbered their opponents, two of the four cloaked men were extremely adept at duelling, and were firing to kill.

Ogden was struggling with his opponent, while Peakes and Finch also struggled to handle the one they were opposing. Harry managed to land a stunner on one of the men, though it was a short-lived victory. At that same moment, Ogden fell to a retaliating stunning spell, leaving Harry to take over from him.

The cloaked figure who Ben had taken on was possibly the best dueller of the lot. Even with the powerful curses he was sending, it was proving difficult to land anything on the man. Instead, Ben changed his strategy, opting for a highly defensive plan of attack, in the hopes of tiring his opponent out.

It wasn't long before Harry, Peakes and Finch were finished with their duels, having stunned the other attackers. But instead of assisting in the ongoing duel, Harry waved them down, instructing them not to help. Being their superior, they did as they were instructed, giving Harry the perfect opportunity to observe Ben's duelling technique.

Meanwhile, Hermione mentally cursed each and every one of her co-workers as she exhaled another breath into Fawley's mouth. It had been a solid five minutes, and thus far, she was getting no response from Fawley.

As she lifted her head, she was gently pushed aside by a muggle man in a paramedic uniform. Feeling infinitely grateful to the muggles who had apparently called for help, she stood and stepped back, giving them room to work.

A few more minutes passed as Hermione watched the paramedics doing all they could for Fawley, before one of the men leaned back and said the words she hadn't wanted to hear.

"That's enough, we should call it."

Hermione let out a feeble sound of defeat. _He was dead._ They had promised to protect him, and they had _failed._

But there was still a small chance to prevent his death from being in vain.

Hermione turned with determination in her eyes and ran out of the cafe into the cobbled street toward the sound of the fighting, pushing through the small crowd of muggles who were being controlled by the remaining Aurors as she went. She rounded the corner down onto the side street toward where the portkey had taken them, and took in the wizards before her. Harry and Finch stood seemingly entranced by the duel taking place before them. One other was crouched down by a dark mass on the sidewalk - presumably a fallen Auror.

Following their line of sight, Hermione quickly found herself entranced like the others, taken aback by Ben's duelling abilities. He was fantastic. Meeting every incoming spell with a quick shield of his own, Ben's defences seemed impenetrable.

It was obvious that he was _wasted_ in the office. The way he moved, brandishing his wand as he went looked as natural to him as breathing.

But... _what were the others doing?_ Sure, it was an impressive duel, but that was no reason to stand idle and let Ben do all of the work.

_Unless Harry wanted to see Ben duel for himself and had stopped the others._

Another sudden feeling of determination hit, and Hermione stepped forward. Harry might have convinced the others not to intervene, but nothing would be stopping her. Wizarding duel etiquette be _damned._

With her wand directed to the back of Ben's opponent, Hermione yelled, " _incarcerous!_ "

Ropes materialised and shot out toward the man, successfully taking down her target. The man landed face first onto the cobbled street with a loud groan, and squirmed in the ropes to free his wand. Hermione quickly disarmed the man, catching his wand in her left hand.

Realising his opponent had been taken care of, Ben nodded toward Hermione in a gesture of thanks and approached the man, flipping him over as he reached him. The man made an animalistic noise as he attempted to distance himself from Ben with a swift kick toward his shin. Quickly stepping back, Ben scowled and proceeded to stun the man.

"I don't recognise him," he commented.

"Nor do I," Hermione agreed.

Her attention was drawn back to the other Aurors as a groan escaped Ogden, who had been assisted by Peakes. On the other side of the street, Harry had joined Finch by the other fallen man.

Hermione began in their direction as Harry stood and looked back to her and Ben. He slowly shook his head, sadness clear in his eyes. Her mouth involuntarily popped open as she processed what he meant.

Ashburn was dead.

 

* * *

 

The following evening and two mild panic attacks later, Hermione could be found sitting at her desk staring thoughtfully at her framed photograph of herself and Ron.

_He looked so happy._

And next to it, an enchanted image of the 'Golden Trio' at Hogwarts.

 _She_ looked so happy.

It all felt so long ago.

A good portion of the department had been out for counselling that day, and Hermione was grateful for the quiet of the office. Aurors being killed in the line of duty was a rare occurrence these days, meaning the news of Ashburn's death had hit them rather hard. Though Kingsley had pressured her to take the day, Hermione had insisted on coming in. After all, someone had to keep the place running, and she hadn't been a witness to the murder.

Out of their team, Peakes had taken the news the hardest. After returning to the Ministry with Ashburn's body that night, he had insisted it was his fault for assisting Ogden before checking on Ashburn. On the other end of the spectrum, Harry was more determined than ever to get back on the field, particularly now that the Voldemort and Carrigan cases were once again closely linked.

Although she wouldn't admit it, Hermione was having the hardest time of all trying to keep the thoughts of Fawley out of her head. Although he hasn't necessarily been a law-abiding citizen, he certainly didn't deserve to die the way he had. Especially considering he had been under _their_ protection. But it just simply wasn't like her - she struggled to remember a time where she had been in a situation so unprepared. _Why in Merlin's name didn't she have a bezoar with her?_

She’d been distracted. That was it, plain and simple. She’d let her own problems get in the way of doing her job, and it had cost a man his life.

She bit the end of her pen, trying to shake off her thoughts and _focus._ There was no way to find him justice sitting at her desk dwelling on her failures.

"Penrose has confirmed it."

Hermione's head snapped up as Ben entered, disturbing the silence.

"Fawley was poisoned."

Hermione nodded and looked back down to the report in front of her, not wanting him to see her succumbing to her stress.

"...you all right?" He asked gently, slowly stepping over to where she sat.

She nodded and closed her eyes.

"If you need the day-"

"No," she insisted, "no, I'm all right."

He looked at her thoughtfully for a moment with furrowed eyebrows.

"It's not your fault, you know," he stated, once again understanding her without needing the words. He placed a warm hand on her shoulder comfortingly. "There was no stopping that poison."

"I know," she replied, her voice almost breaking.

He gently rubbed her shoulder before removing his hand and stepping back towards his desk.

Feeling a sudden pang of cold where his hand had been, she shifted her seat over such that she could see past her half-wall to where he had moved. He wasn't facing her, instead leaning on his desk with his hand to his forehead.

 _What had she been doing? What if it had been him hit on the field instead of Ashburn? Or even her? She would have died having lived by the expectations of others, without living life_ her _way, without doing what made her happy._

She frowned and let out a small breath as she stared at his back, thoughts nagging at her.

 _Or if he had died? She never would have had the chance to see what this_ was _, whether the chemistry she felt would eventuate into something more._

 _He was right, she_ was _miserable._

_Just too stubborn to own up to it._

She bit the inside of her lip as she made up her mind. She pushed up from her chair and determinedly made her way over to Ben, leaving her past reservations, her past doubts, _everything_ , at her desk. He turned to her as she approached, looking at her questioningly.

"What are you-"

She silenced him as she placed her hands on either side of his face, stood on the tip of her toes and, for the first time, _she_ kissed _him._

He barely responded at first, and made a small sound of having been caught by surprise. But after a moment, as she pressed her body against his, she felt his hands move and tighten around her waist.

It felt like fire.

After recovering from his initial surprise, Ben quickly took control, pushing Hermione back until the backs of her thighs hit the edge of his desk. Without breaking the kiss, he pushed her up onto it, knocking off a pile of papers in the process.

Almost suddenly, he broke the kiss and moved back just enough to make eye contact. He looked at her as if to say, 'are you sure?'

She didn't say anything as she met his eyes, but that was all he needed. Quickly glancing behind him, he pulled his wand from his back pocket and waved it toward the office door. It closed with a soft thud as he turned back to her. Meeting her halfway, he closed the distance once again.

And it was warm, it was _right_ , it was like coming home, and all of her worries and doubts and guilt were entirely forgotten.

Hermione let out a soft moan in the back of her throat as his hands squeezed the tops of her thighs, his fingers digging in almost painfully. He pulled her closer, pressing their bodies together. She laced her hands around the back of his neck, drawing him as close as she could manage. She could feel goosebumps forming on her legs as his fingers slipped underneath the top of her skirt which had bunched on her thighs.

He was a much better kisser than Ron was. During their time together, it was normally Hermione who was the dominant one. But after their couple of kisses, and particularly _now_ , it was clear that that wouldn't be the case with Ben. It _excited_ her. Although she had kissed Viktor back in school, she had never been with anyone sexually other than Ron. She had long wondered what it would be like, to be with someone _confident_ , who knew what they were doing and was willing to take charge. And now, as he pulled her as close as their bodies would allow, and she felt him through his trousers, she buzzed with the anticipation of finding out.

“ _Hermione_.”

The sound of him whispering her name like that, so smoothly, against the skin of her neck sent chills down her spine, clouding her judgement. There was nothing else; just her and _him._

And there on his mahogany desk, her fantasies became a reality.


	9. The End of an Era

Looking back on it, this was a strong contender for the worst situation she'd ever gotten herself into.

And for Hermione Granger, that was saying something.

She would happily take snatchers and living in a tent on the run all over again if it meant getting out of her current predicament. Hell, she'd even consider going back to school with _Umbridge._

Hermione stared up at the ceiling from her bed and let out a long, tired sigh. Like the traitor she was, she had spent the night in a hired room of the Leaky Cauldron. She just simply couldn't bear the thought of going home to face Ron. She may have been paranoid, but she was convinced that once she faced him, he would just _know._ And with her line of work that had kept her out all night in the past, she figured it wouldn't seem _too_ strange.

But really, she had no one to blame but herself. She had gotten here all by her own actions. _Stupid, thoughtless, selfish actions._

After a solid ten minutes of internally debating whether she'd go or not, she forced herself up from the bed and got herself ready for the day. Like a true Gryffindor, she figured it was best to go and face her problems head on.

She quickly transfigured the front of her blouse in an effort to make it seem like she wasn't wearing the same clothes from the day before. She then took her time fixing her hair, eating breakfast, sipping her coffee. She was putting off the inevitable, she knew it. But what else was she to do?

Half an hour later than usual – but not nearly as late as she would’ve liked – Hermione breathed heavily and clenched her fists as she stood alone in the slowly moving elevator of the Ministry.

_How was she meant to face him again? How was she meant to look him in the eye and tell him that it was a mistake? After it had felt so right?_

She took another deep breath in and stepped out of the elevator toward her office, in the hopes that she would find it still empty. Finding the door cracked slightly open, she nudged it open quietly, hoping to enter stealthily.

"Hermione..." Ben began immediately as she took a hesitant step in.

She kept her head down and internally cursed her luck, ignoring him as she hurried through the office to her desk.

"Hermione?" He tried again, having gotten up and followed her through the office. "We need to -"

"No, we don't," she cut off, refusing to look in his direction. She took out her diary and her favourite pen, and began scribbling her daily list of things that needed her attention.

"We can't just pretend-"

"Yes, we can," she cut off again.

He sighed loudly, and she didn't even have to look at him to know that he had rolled his eyes. She fidgeted in her seat and flipped the page back to yesterday's date to check for any outstanding tasks that needed doing.

"Look, I know this is uncomfortable for you-"

Hermione scoffed.

"-but before all else, we have a job to do, we can't just sweep this under the rug and let it get in the way," Ben finished.

Hermione let out a deep breath. _You can do this._

"What happened was... was a mistake, a mistake that won't happen again. I see no reason to-"

"Bull _shit_ ," Ben growled. "You have-" he broke off and turned back into the office, proceeding to close the main door to the department. He came back quickly, and sat on the side of her desk, making it impossible to ignore him. "You clearly have feelings for me, and this whole thing would be so much easier for _everyone_ if you would finally _just own up to it_."

"I can't do this to _Ron_."

"Well, it's a bit late for that."

"Why can't we just let this go, and forget that it ever-"

"Because _I_ can't!" Ben's voice broke to yell.

Hermione was taken aback by his sudden show of emotion, taking a moment to recover. "I'm _sorry_ , but I just can't do it to him."

" _Gods_ , why are you even with him?"

"What? Because I _love_ him-"

"Who are you trying to convince? We both know how unhappy you are - if you weren't, you would have been with your _husband_ last night, not _here_ with _me_."

The tears that Hermione had been attempting to hold back all night threatened to escape again. "I don't know what you want me to say."

"Say that you'll leave!"

Hermione's brow furrowed, not following his words.

"Be with _me_ ," he reiterated.

"I can't-"

" _Yes_ , you _can_. It's as easy as that. Why on earth are you choosing to be miserable?"

She wanted to. Every fibre in her being wanted to reach out and touch him again. But she had been with Ron for _years_ , leaving now would destroy him. He was one of her best friends, and she had already betrayed him in the worst way. She could never do that to him. _Could she?_

 _"_ You can't have it both ways," Ben continued, seeing that she wasn't going to respond. "You're either with _him_ , or you're with _me._ I can't be the other man."

"I-" Hermione tried, a large lump forming in her throat. "It's not that simple!"

"You'll find that it is."

"I- I'm _sorry_ ," Hermione stammered as the tears began to escape.

He closed his eyes and massaged the bridge of his nose in frustration, before turning and leaving her booth. A moment later she heard the office door open and slam shut behind him.

He didn't come back into the office at all that day.

 

* * *

 

Hermione ended up in tears for half of the day. It wasn't like her to curl up and become a slave to her emotions, but _none of this was like her._

Never would she have thought she would be the type to sneak around, cheating on her husband. Yet here she was. Not to mention, now she'd gone and hurt Ben too.

To be completely honest, she simply hadn't expected him to actually want a relationship with her. She had been assuming the worst - that once he had slept with her, he'd lose interest and move on. But now, after that morning, seeing that he _was_ interested... well, it changed things.

Although she had only known the man for a few months and didn't really know him too well, _she wanted more._

She wanted to know what he looked like first thing in the morning. She wanted to know what he was like at the last point of the day, at the brink of sleep when the world starts to fade away. She wanted to know his favourite colour, and his favourite food, and his favourite place, and his favourite music and his favourite spells.

She wanted it all, and now, after she’d _tasted_ him, she didn’t want to go back.

She _couldn’t_ go back.

She closed her eyes and let out a breath in an attempt to calm herself as she came to a sudden realisation. What she had with Ron was _gone._ Even if whatever it was between Ben and herself didn't work out - _it didn't matter_. Her wandering eye made it painstakingly obvious that the spark between her and Ron was gone, and it wasn't coming back, and that by staying, she was again only drawing out the inevitable.

And just like that, she knew exactly what she had to do.

 

* * *

 

"I think we made a mistake," Hermione stated after a long breath.

Ron frowned.

"By getting married," she clarified, making a conscious effort to keep her voice soft.

Ron's expression did not change, though his mouth popped open a little bit.

She had left the Ministry that very night as a woman on a mission. She couldn't drag this out; it had to be right there and then. It wasn't fair to Ron. But as she sat at their dining table, looking to her husband with pain in her eyes, she began to second-guess her decision.

"Surely you know it too," she blurted after a moment of awkward silence. "I mean, I love you, I'll _always_ love you, but I'm just not sure… I don’t think we're _in_ love anymore," she said, as gently as she could muster. Her muscles tensed, expecting an outburst of anger, or at least a protest. What she did not expect, however, was for him to agree with her.

"I - yeah," he said after a pause, looking down to his hands. "I - I think... I think you might be right."

Hermione was so taken aback that for a moment, she didn't know what to say.

"We're just, at _such_ different points in our lives," she continued once she recovered after a long pause. "You're ready for family, I'm ready for a career; maybe it's best that we-"

"Yeah."

The silence that followed was almost unbearable.

"So," Ron started slowly. "Where do we go from here? I mean... do we separate for a while, see how it goes?"

"I think that would be best," she agreed, a treacherous tear making its way down her cheek.

"You know what - you stay here. I've got Mum and Dad's, or Bill's place. You'll need it more than me," he said, sounding surprisingly reasonable.

Hermione frowned. Never had she expected him to take this so well, she'd thought he'd at _least_ fight for her a _little_ bit. But then a thought crossed her mind.

_Perhaps he's found someone else, too._

"I couldn't, what about your things-"

"Don't worry about it, we're not... in too big a rush, are we? Besides, packing won't take long, not with you here to help."

She smiled a sad smile.

They sat, again in silence. She felt like there was so much more to say, yet she couldn't bring herself to do it. Ron appeared as torn as she did. He was focusing on his hands, twisting his ring around his finger repeatedly. After a moment, she noticed that he seemed... stressed.

"Ron-"

"I guess-"

They spoke at the same time, both stopping as the other did.

"I suppose I'll just - I should go," Ron blurted suddenly, rising from his seat in a hurry.

"But, we've hardly spoken, don't you think we should-"

"It's fine. I understand. I just think - I should get some space," he threw on his jacket hastily.

"I - yeah. Yes, of course," she conceded.

He looked away quickly, and left the cottage without another word.

He didn't even look back.

 

* * *

 

The next day in the office, after yet another completely sleepless night alone in her bed, Hermione couldn't shake the feeling of being _watched._ The sensation persisted all the way as she made her way through the foyer towards the staff room. Bee-lining toward the coffee, she tried to ignore the feeling, but to no avail.

As she left the staff room with a tight hold on her mug, her suspicions were at last confirmed as she found herself cornered by Harry.

"Can we talk?" He asked at once.

Hermione swallowed with narrowed eyes. She had been expecting this, but perhaps not quite so soon. _Not the very next morning._ Then again, Ron hadn't come back that night, so it made sense that the first place he'd go to would be Harry's.

"Of course," she followed Harry into his office, and closed the door behind her.

He stared at her in silence for a moment.

"Well?"

"'Well' what?" She asked, perhaps a tad too defensively.

"What happened with Ron?"

She sighed. "He told you?"

"Of course he did!"

"Well then, I don't see why you need to hear it twice."

"Don't be thick! You know what Ron's like! What happened? He said that _you_ said you made a mistake marrying him, and that was that."

She looked at him defiantly. "And?"

"' _And?!'_ That's not the whole story!"

She didn't respond, choosing to look down at her shoes instead.

"...is it?"

She huffed. "It is."

He gaped.

"But - but where has this come from?!"

"Please Harry, you're well aware of where this has come from! Ron and I have been having troubles for a long time now, and, I can't spend my life being miserable. It's not fair to me, and it wouldn't be fair to _him_."

"B-but -"

" _No._ This is between myself and Ronald. I'm sorry about the situation this puts you in, but this is how it is."

He looked at her with sad eyes, as if he were going to say something but thought better of it.

"Now, I really must be going. We can talk later, alright? Three of the men we apprehended still need to be questioned," with that, she went to leave the office.

Opening the door to the department foyer, she noticed the last person she wanted to see. Ben had been in conversation with the receptionist, and had turned at the sound of the opening door. Seeing her emerge with Harry behind her, his expression soured.

"Weasley. Potter. Paying you to chat now, are we?"

"No-"

"As Deputy Head of this department, you should know better."

"But we-"

"I don't need to hear it. There's a statement from Winfield that needs addressing on your desk. I want it done by three."

With that, he left them standing in the doorway.

"...what's got his wand in a knot?" Harry mumbled once Ben was safely out of earshot.

"I'm not sure," Hermione lied with a frown.

 

* * *

 

Come four o'clock, Hermione _bolted_ down the corridor of the second floor toward Kingsley's office. There had been a note from Ben tucked under a book on her desk informing her of the meeting she was currently running late to, and she hadn't seen it until the very last minute.

She was sure he hadn't _intended_ for her not to see it.

She pushed the door open and apologised profusely as she took a seat opposite Kingsley, trying not to puff too loudly.

"Glad you could finally make it," Ben said coldly as she entered.

" _Sorry_ ," she repeated, smiling apologetically toward Kingsley.

"No problem at all," Kingsley said, returning her smile. She was glad to see that at least one of them wasn't mad with her.

The following meeting was extremely dull, but necessary. Important decisions were made regarding the handling of the four apprehended men from the night of Fawley's death. They couldn't release them at the risk of them ending up murdered like the others, but their lawyers were pushing _hard._

It was also full of uncomfortable tension. Ben seemingly _refused_ to look in Hermione's direction, and didn't try to hide his irritation as she spoke.

In Hermione's opinion, he was being a _complete child._

“I believe you have an update with Winfield?"

"Yes," Ben said at once, again cutting off Hermione who had opened her mouth to speak. "Winfield is willing to help us locate Evrard. He says he has a contact; Ms. Athena Dolohov. Apparently, she should be able to help us."

Hermione stiffened. _He hadn't written_ that _in the report._

" _Dolohov?_ " She questioned, turning to Ben.

"Niece of Antonin Dolohov," Ben clarified without looking in her direction.

Hermione gaped. "No," she objected immediately. " _No._ "

"We mustn't judge based on one's family," Kingsley insisted, well aware of her history with Dolohov. "Follow it up."

Hermione's lips formed a thin line that Professor McGonagall would have been proud of.

Ben nodded and rose to his feet, taking that as his cue to exit. He left the office in a hurry, softly closing the door behind him. Seeing him leave, she nodded to Kingsley before following suit and hurrying after him.

"Wait," she called. " _Wait!_ "

He stopped on the second 'wait', but didn't turn.

"We _can't_ work with Dolohov," she said as she reached him.

"And you're not in any position to make that decision," he said sharply, finally looking down at her. She almost flinched under his cold stare.

"But it's - it's _madness!_ What if she's still in contact with her uncle?"

"So what if she is? He can't do a thing from Azkaban."

"He could spread the word!" She suggested. "It could be Selwyn and Fawley all over again! Everyone we talk to dies!"

"Your point being? You're honestly telling me that you'd care if something happened to one of the last surviving Dolohovs?"

"No that's - that's not my point. My point _is_ that he's dangerous. He was in You-Know-Who's inner circle. We can't risk him catching wind of what we're doing," she said, flushing.

He cocked his head to the side and narrowed his eyes slightly.

"What's your problem with this guy? You didn't complain this much about Malfoy. Is this _personal?_ " He asked, putting her words together. "Are you scared of him?"

She huffed. "I most certainly am not. I just don't think this is a good id-"

"Well it's a good thing that it isn't what you think that matters," he cut her off and began to continue walking away.

She gaped and stared at his back as he went, trying to control her slowly building rage.

"And Hermione?" He turned back around briefly, continuing to walk backwards. "Do be polite with Ms. Dolohov when you question her. We wouldn't want her feeling _used._ " He raised his eyebrows, emphasising the word 'used'.

 

* * *

 

The following weekend went by all too quickly. Hermione spent all day Saturday with Ron packing the belongings he deemed 'important'. The day was awkward to say the least. Conversation had been minimal, and when Ron _did_ try, it was only small talk that you'd make with a friend.

It was cold.

Toward the end of the day, he noticeably grew sheepish. Over the years, she had become quite familiar with the small things he did. For instance, when something was bothering him, he'd tip toe around for a while before finally bringing up whatever it was. And so it didn't come as a surprise whatsoever when he finally spoke.

"'Mione?" Said Ron in a small voice.

"Yes?"

"Can you… I haven't-" he sighed. "I haven't told my parents."

Hermione's mouth popped open. "Oh."

"I just thought… I don't want to worry them. I mean, we haven't decided to _divorce_ yet have we? We might change our minds... right?" His voice came out so quietly that Hermione had to strain to hear him.

Her expression softened. _What was the harm? It wasn't like Ben was bursting to be with her. He wouldn't even look at her. They had time._

"Yeah. Don't worry, I won't say anything until you do," she said, assuming that that was where he was going.

He smiled a small smile. "Thanks."

 

* * *

 

That Sunday night, Ron spent the evening at the Leaky Cauldron with Harry. He had been staying with Bill and Fleur for the last few nights, but didn't like being around the young family. _They were too happy._ Instead, Ron had been spending most nights since taking a break with Hermione catching up with Harry.

He grunted down at his Firewhisky.

Knowing that this was a sign that he wanted to talk, Harry looked over questioningly.

"D'you - you think that Hermione wanting to split-" he started unsurely. "You think it's got anything to do with _You-Know-Who_?"

Harry's eyes widened. "What? No way-"

"I mean, _your boss_ ," Ron clarified, taking another swig of his drink.

" _Oh_ ," Harry pondered. "I don't... nah... it couldn't..."

"Hear me out," began Ron, slamming his glass down onto the bar rather forcefully, "she gets a new boss, who's... tall, and... _young_. You know how she was with Lockheart. 'Mione's always been one for the authority figures. And lately, before, _you know_ , she's been standing up for him. It was always ' _Ben_ this, _Ben_ that'."

Harry's mouth opened slightly as he mulled over what to say to his best friend.

"I don't-"

"And _you were right._ It _would_ do You-Know-Who a world of good to split us up, have her on his side. Everyone knows she's the brain, 'brightest witch of her age _'_ and all that lot."

"Yeah... _yeah..._ but this is Hermione. She's smarter than that. She wouldn't fall for something like that, she'd see straight through it."

Ron hummed and gestured out to the waitress, requesting another Firewhisky.

 

* * *

 

Meanwhile, Hermione could be found sitting on the floor in the centre of her living room sifting through a small mountain of files. She had decided to bring work home with her now that she had the house to herself. Never in her life had she lived alone, and it brought a level of freedom which she surprisingly _enjoyed._

She could do whatever she wanted. She could sing, she could work as much as she wanted, she could eat whatever she wanted without complaints about what she was making.

_It was freeing._

But as much as she was enjoying her time, being alone made it difficult to control her thoughts. She kept thinking back to how Ben was being with her, and it _scared_ her. True, she had slept with him, and then denied him, and that must have hurt. But the way he was acting made her worry that she had missed her chance, and decided to leave Ron too late.

_She just needed to talk with him, and things would work out. She was sure of it._

But over the next day, her worry quickly turned back into anger. He was _still_ ignoring her, relentlessly. She greeted him with a chirpy 'good morning' and received a mere grunt in response. He still refused to look in her direction, and instead of asking her to organise the questioning for the last of the apprehended men, he sent her a passive-aggressive note. _Sent from the other side of the room._

He was being ridiculous!

She bottled up her annoyance for the rest of the day and spent a good portion of her work hours sending glares in Ben's direction. _How dare he give her the silent treatment? After all she'd done? She'd left her husband for him! Granted, he didn't_ know _that, but all the same!_

Eventually, once the clock struck five, Hermione stubbed her toe painfully on her half wall.

It was the _last straw_.

She let out a sound of rage and slammed down the books she was holding onto her desk. She collected her things and grabbed her bag in a hurry before marching right on over to Ben's desk.

Even though he _must_ have heard her slamming, he kept up his act of ignoring her, choosing to focus on the book in front of him instead.

"Hey," she said as she took up stance directly in front of him. Still not being acknowledged, Hermione snatched out the book from under him. " _I'm talking to you!_ "

With a look that could kill, he slowly looked up at her from where his book had been.

"Give me my book back."

" _No._ Not until I've said what I have to say!"

He sighed, leaned back in his chair, and cocked an eyebrow. She took that as a 'go on then'.

"I know that I was horrible to you. I know how it must have seemed. For that, _I'm sorry._ But I thought it might interest you to know that Ron and I split up last week."

His nostrils flared upon hearing her last words, but he didn't react otherwise.

After a moment of _painful_ silence, Hermione stomped her foot in frustration.

"Ugh, _fine!_ Here. Have your _stupid_ book back," she threw the book at him and turned on her heels, slamming the office door behind her.

Still leaning back in his chair, Ben smiled.


	10. A New Beginning

It hadn't taken her long. Four days of living alone, and Hermione had already resorted to eating her ice cream straight from the tub. There simply wasn't a reason not to. Sure, it wouldn't have been hard to cast a quick spell and have a bowl ready, but why should she waste her energy? There was no one to judge.

She smiled at her spoon with satisfaction and took another mouthful of the strawberry goodness.

A soft knock on the door interrupted Hermione's binging. She jumped up in surprise and swallowed her mouthful quickly, standing the spoon up in the ice cream. Leaving the tub on the dining table next to her open book, she padded over to the door, attempting to flatten her hair on the way.

She pulled the door open, and felt her mouth popping open in surprise as she took in the image of her boss at her door, hair dusted in droplets from the light rain.

"Uh, hi," he said awkwardly.

"H - how did you know where I live?" Hermione managed to ask once she had recovered from her initial surprise, suddenly feeling very self-conscious of her blue and while spotted sleepwear.

"Erm, Janice, the department receptionist. She'll tell you anything for the right price," he said, smiling cheekily. "Can I come in?"

"Oh, uh, yeah, all right then," she stepped aside, leaving the door open.

Ben closed the door behind him and looked around the small cottage briefly.

"Nice place," he commented.

Hermione nodded and folded her arms over, trying her best to look serious in her pyjamas. "What are you doing here?" She asked, straight to the point.

He looked away for a moment, in an unsure way that was very much unlike him.

"I thought we could talk."

" _Now_ you want to talk?" She snapped, still irritated with him from the other day.

"I just wanted to say," he started, ignoring her sharp tone, "that I'm _sorry_ about yesterday. You took me by surprise, and -"

He broke off to sigh.

"And...?"

" _And_ I'm sorry for how I've been acting. I was... unprofessional."

"And childish," she added.

He rolled his eyes. " _And childish._ "

She smiled crookedly. "I'm sorry for throwing your book at you."

"That's quite all right," he said with a laugh. "I daresay I deserved it."

"You did," she agreed.

"So, are we all right then?"

"I suppose," she stated quickly, before seeing a window of opportunity. " _As long as_ I don't have to question Dolohov."

He narrowed his eyes. "Fine. But on one condition."

"Go on..."

"Have dinner with me."

Her eyes popped open in surprise.

"As... _tempting_ as that sounds... there's a department rule about dating co-workers," she pointed out instinctively.

"Please, that rule was put in place by Williamson. Who is _long gone_. Besides, it didn't seem to bother you last week," he pointed out, raising an eyebrow.

She frowned, making Ben chuckle.

"It's okay if you don't want to. I don't want to rush anything. If you're not - you know, if you want some time to yourself, then I understand."

She looked away thoughtfully, trying not to smile.

"But you know... we don't have to tell anyone," he added in a low voice, taking a step closer.

"I suppose..."

"So… Friday?"

She met his eyes. "All right."

"Great," he said, stepping even closer. "Well, I should be heading off, I can see you were pretty busy before I interrupted you."

His eyes flickered behind her. Following his gaze, she focused on the tub of ice cream. Her eyes widened, and her cheeks immediately began to redden. She had been hoping that he wouldn't see the tub, or at the very least, wouldn't see that there was a spoon in it.

He laughed loudly seeing her reaction.

"I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Bright and early," she agreed, trying to withhold her embarrassment.

He bent down, leaned in and lightly pecked her cheek, his stubble brushing her cheek as he did so. Leaving her cheek warm, he shot her a small smile and headed out.

One the door was closed and she was once again left alone, Hermione broke into a grin.

 

* * *

 

Hermione had been buzzing with excitement like a teenager all week long. Not only was she going on a date, but she was going on a date with her _boss._ There was something about it, that combined with the fact that her friends would never approve in a _million years_ , that made her feel like Juliet, that made it feel... _forbidden._

She felt as though she needed this. She needed some excitement in her life, and what Ron and herself had was simply anything but exciting. She felt... as though she didn't regret a thing.

Over the course of the week, in order to pass the time, Hermione had been combing through the statements from Carrigan's men. Three of the four had been very co-operative, while the last one, William Deverill, was proving to be rather stubborn. The three statements from the others all seemed to support each other - the men had been instructed by Carrigan himself to meet and take out Fawley. But none of them seemed aware of a plan to _poison_ him.

Hermione assumed that was where the fourth man, Deverill, came in. But he simply wouldn't speak. Ben had decided to hold him in Azkaban, seeing as they were all facing charges for murder. But Hermione wasn't sure that the experience with the dementors would be enough to crack him any time soon.

In the meantime, the only lead they had for tracking down Evrard was as Ben said - Athena Dolohov. With no criminal record, they had decided it would be safe to send her a letter in a bid to organise a time to meet, but thus far they hadn't received a response. So, while they waited, the Department was back to square one, relying on reports of sightings from civilians.

By the time Friday morning came, Hermione's excitement had turned into _nervousness._ Having not had a first date since she had been at Hogwarts (did it count as a first date after they'd already slept together?), she felt sixteen again. She got up bright and early, carefully picked out an outfit consisting of her best work skirt and a pink, button up blouse that was both flattering, yet work appropriate, leaving extra time to tame her hair.

She struggled to keep her smile off of her face all day. _Did that make her a terrible person? She had only separated with her husband a week ago, and was already moving on, feeling_ happy.

Although, at least she wasn't sneaking out behind his back...

Come six o'clock that evening, Hermione packed her bag in an excited hurry. She let Ben know that she was leaving and dashed out of the office eagerly. They had agreed leave after hours and to meet at the Ministry's apparition point a few minutes apart to avoid anyone noticing them leaving together.

She practically bounced to the ground level with a spring in her step, and only had to wait a few minutes before he appeared. Grateful for not running into any of her co-workers while she waited, she happily took his hand and let herself be pulled into the pressure of apparition.

She stumbled as she materialised out in a quiet street and steadied herself on the lamp post they’d appeared next to. As she took in her surroundings, she found herself surprised.

It was not what she expected.

They had appeared out the front of a large, white townhouse. Two storeys high, the building was far more _clean cut_ than she had anticipated. There was a single large tree in the small front yard, with a small group of stairs leading up to the wide, black door. The building itself looked old, yet well kept.

It was only after she had been staring at the house for a few moments that what should have been an obvious thought crossed her mind.

_Aurors were monitoring his house outside of work hours._

_Aurors, who she worked with, might see them. Together._

_Aurors who might be Harry._

"Are we going to head inside, or will dinner be served out here?" She asked, trying to hide her worry with a joke.

It seemed to succeed as he let out a short laugh and led her up the stairs.

"After you," he said, holding the front door open for her.

She stepped in, relieved to be safely inside where she couldn't be spotted, and was again taken by surprise. The house, like the exterior, was light. Aside from the hardwood floors, the walls, the ceilings, the furniture, it all had a theme of 'white'. With modern decor and minimal clutter, it was not at all what she had expected. In fact, at first glance it looked like the home of a _muggle._

Ben let out a small laugh seeing her expression. "What were you expecting?"

"I - I don't know," she confessed. "A bit more clutter, perhaps? Something... darker?"

"I don’t tend to spend enough time here to mess it up," he commented fairly, stepping toward the large doorway to the right. "Come, I'll show you around."

She followed him into what turned out to be the dining room, noting the cleanliness of the house. She smiled, remembering what Ron and Harry had said about him having a cleaner. The long wooden table situated in the middle of the room immediately caught her eye. With ten chairs surrounding it, and a light chandelier above it, she couldn't help but admire it.

"Do you have many guests?" She asked noting the tables length.

"Mainly family," he said quickly. "Come, through here is the kitchen."

He led her through the dining room into the kitchen. It was surprisingly large considering the size of the building from the outside. _Suspiciously_ large _._ She looked around the room warily before turning back to him.

"Have you... have you used an extension charm?" She asked cautiously.

He met her eyes and winked, before approaching the large pantry and pulling out a bottle of red wine.

"But without a permit, that-that's _illegal!_ " She squawked, scandalised.

"I won't tell if you won't," he said with smirk. "Would you like some wine?"

He poured two glasses before she had the chance to answer him. She wasn't sure if she _could_ answer him, her mind was so caught up on the extension charm and what its implications might be.

_If the Ministry was watching him, they'd miss any activity in an area with an undetectable extension charm._

She swallowed nervously.

_But she trusted him, didn't she? He wasn't Voldemort, she'd established that._

She leaned up against the kitchen counter and took the glass of wine Ben had handed to her. In an attempt to push her worries to the back of her mind, she took a sip.

"The tour continues this way," he said, leading her out through the other side of the kitchen through to the living room. As she entered, Hermione nearly forgot about Ben and her worries completely as she took in the far side of the room. The _whole wall_ was lined with bookcases, like a small library.

"You like what you see?" Ben commented jokingly as she gawked.

"Yes, oh -" she moved over to take a closer look at the books, unable to stop herself reaching out for them. "It's this - ' _Alchemical duodecimo'?_ And - Merlin, _first edition?!_ How on earth did you get this?"

"It belonged to my grandfather, on my mother’s side. I couldn't tell you how he got it."

"This is - this is _amazing_ ," she gently flicked through the pages of the old book, not wanting to damage the pages.

"Yeah? What about this one?" He plucked a much smaller, older looking book with a purple spine from the bookcase next to her and handed it over.

She carefully took hold and read the title printed in small print. She almost stopped breathing. ' _Arbatel De Magia veterum_ '.

"I - you're pulling my leg," she accused, not believing the authenticity of the ancient book in her hands.

"Nope," he said, looking very proud of his book. "I'd say that you could borrow it, but I could use something to keep you coming back."

She let out a breath of laughter as she gently examined the pages. "You'll have a hard time getting rid of me with this."

"Perfect," he said with a smirk. "Come on, you can take it with us."

He gestured for her to keep following him. He led her out of the living room into a corridor, which opened back out into the entrance room. There were three doors branching off of the hall, which he pointed out as they passed.

"Bathroom, linen cupboard, garage," he said. " _And,_ we're back. Up the stairs here, bedroom, spare bedroom, second bathroom, the usual."

"It's very nice," she said, sipping her wine. She was actually quite _jealous._ While her cottage was small, homey, and cluttered, his house was large, tidy and modern.

"It's home," he agreed. "All right, are you ready for dinner then?"

She nodded and followed him back on through to the kitchen. He started pulling things out of the pantry with a non-verbal flick of his wand and got to work, while she sat and watched.

As it turned out, he was an excellent cook. Far better than she, she realised with a pang of irritation. He didn't even have to use magic for half of it. She wasn't used to being shown up by others, and certainly not in multiple things like this.

She finished her glass of wine with a nagging thought: _maybe this was how Ron had felt with her._

The pasta he served her was as delicious as it had smelled, matching the wine perfectly.

After dinner, they moved back into the living room, where it didn't take long for them to finish the bottle of wine. Hermione didn't drink very often, so by the time she finished her second glass, it had noticeably gone to her head.

" _-_ but that winter was _awful,_ I got into the worst fight with both Harry _and_ Ron, while we were living in a _tent_ , and - oh-" her ranting was broken by a hiccup.

"Living in a _tent?_ " he questioned as he laughed.

"We didn't have anywhere to stay, of course. We were the biggest fugitives in the country! We could never stay in any one location for long, and a tent was the best option we had at the time."

"That's ingenious, you know," he said. "A solution so simple, and you managed to elude capture for a whole year."

"Well, not a _whole_ year," she corrected.

He shook his head in disbelief. "You're... you're really something, you know?"

She smiled briefly before another small hiccup escaped her.

"Perhaps that's enough for you," he said with another laugh. He reached out and plucked her glass from her grip and raised it, long with his own glass, in the space between them before letting them go, leaving them hanging stationary in the air. After a moment, he brushed his hand to the side, the glasses moving in the direction of his hand. They hovered to the side before gently placing themselves on the coffee table. Hermione watched, transfixed by his small display of magic.

"Wandless magic after three glasses of wine?" She questioned rhetorically, a little impressed. She was positive that she wouldn't have been able to do it – not under the influence of the alcohol, anyway.

"It's all in the practice," he said, flashing his teeth as he smiled. "I can teach you, if you'd like. You seem to have a better grasp on your magic than most, I'm sure you'd be a natural."

"I know how to use wandless magic," she said a little bit defensively.

"I've seen you use it a little, sure, but I'd be hesitant to say it's your strong suit," he said with a cheeky smile.

"Hey!"

"Alright then, prove me wrong," he said gesturing back to the wine glasses.

She stared at them intently for a moment, internally weighing up whether she'd be able to do it or not. With a sigh, her eyes flicked back to him.

"Fine." She huffed. "It's not my strong suit."

"There is no shame in that, darling," he said, reaching out of twirl a strand of her hair between his fingers. "I struggle to cast a patronus, something I've heard that you're quite adept at."

"Really?" She asked, cheering up a little.

He nodded. "It's a very complex spell. Many witches and wizards struggle with it," he said, this time _him_ being the defensive one.

"Don't worry, perhaps _I_ can teach _you_ ," she said playfully.

"I would be honoured," he smiled and moved his hand from her hair to her cheek, which he caressed gently with his fingertips. She leaned into his touch, closing her eyes as she let herself enjoy the warmth of his hand.

"I'm glad you said yes, to tonight, I mean," he said.

"Me too," she agreed, blushing slightly. "I've had a nice time."

"Good," he whispered. Cautiously, he moved in and gently brushed her mouth with his own, testing the waters. After she didn't pull away, his hand made its way to the back of her neck and he deepened the kiss. It hadn't been long, only a week, but it had felt so long. And as he kissed her, it felt so right, so warm, and she couldn't regret her decision to leave Ron. Not even a little bit.

She kissed him back for a while, savouring the moment, _losing_ herself in him. But all too soon, he broke the kiss and clasped her hand tightly, pulling her up off of the couch.

"What are you -" she started, only to be interrupted by him twisting, pulling her into the sensation of apparition once again.

She barely had a chance to take in her new surroundings, to register that he had brought her to his _bedroom_ , before he gently pushed her back onto the bed, leaving her sitting up. His bed was large, king-size surely, and surprisingly firm. The quilt, being silk, was cool on the back of her legs.

He stared down at her from the end of the bed for a moment before moving forward, standing himself between her legs. He bent down and cupped her jaw in his hands, resuming their kiss.

He slowly pushed her back further, such that she was laying on the bed, not pulling away as he did so. He followed her down, settling himself between her legs. He brought her leg up, wrapping her knee around his hip, which in turn pushed up her skirt.

It was only after his hands started roaming underneath her shirt and she felt her skirt riding up as far as it would go that her mind seemed to switch back on. Turning to the side, Hermione broke the kiss as her rational side took over.

"We shouldn't..." she started, taking a moment to catch her breath. "We should take it slowly, considering how fast things have gone."

He moved downward and hummed in agreement while she spoke, focusing kisses down her neck and chest, progressively unbuttoning her shirt as he went. She let out a small moan as his stubble tickled _just_ on the right spot near her belly button.

"Ben..." she tried again.

"Her _mi_ one," he responded before moving back upwards and meeting her lips once again.

This time, as he tugged at her stockings, she couldn't muster the brain power to stop him. He let out a soft sound of frustration before Hermione suddenly felt a draft of cold on her legs. Apparently, he had given up on removing the stockings and had opted for vanishing them instead.

She pulled at the buttons of his shirt as they kissed, and hummed in triumph as she pushed it off down his arms. She pulled away and took a moment to take in his pale, sculpted chest for the first time - the last time, in their office, they had both remained relatively clothed, and she hadn't had the chance to admire him.

He smiled down at her smugly before he ran his hands down her thighs and slowly removed her knickers.

He moved back up, taking up his position between her legs once more, and she struggled for a moment as she pulled at his belt. He quickly brushed her hands away and finished the job for her, making her smile as she heard the sound of his fly unzipping. He shrugged his trousers down slightly and moved back up to hold her cheek in his large hand.

"I want to _see you_ this time," he said ruggedly, holding her eye contact.

She couldn't bring herself to look away. His dark eyes were _hypnotic,_ as if he were looking straight into her _soul._ And as he pushed himself inside her, she felt as though they were _one._

As though this was where she was meant to be.

 

* * *

 

A month passed. Since that first date, it’d been easy to fall into the routine of spending her weekends with him. It felt natural. It felt like breathing.

After a long week, Hermione made her way through the Atrium of the Ministry that Friday with an unconcealable smile on her face and a spring in her step. Her own happiness distracted her to the point that she didn't realise when someone fell into step next to her.

"What's gotten you in such a good mood?" Harry asked.

Hermione jumped slightly, and stopped walking as she calmed her nerves. "Don't sneak up on me like that!"

"I wasn't sneaking at all," he said, laughing. "Come on, what's up? You're grinning on your way into work, I know there must be something."

"Hmm? Nothing, just happy," she said, starting in the direction of the elevators once again.

"Has there been a lead in the case?"

"No, the trail is still cold as ever."

"Are you taking some time off?"

"No."

"Are you doing something special this weekend?"

"No," that time, she couldn't stop herself from blushing.

Harry grinned. "You _are!_ "

"No, I'm not!" She was well and truly red by this point.

"Go on then," he urged.

"I _told_ you, it's nothing."

"Liar. Are you and Ron catching up?"

She frowned at him. "No."

He looked at her thoughtfully for a moment before gasping.

"Are you seeing _someone else?_ "

"No!"

"You _are!_ "

"Harry!"

"Who is it then? Anyone I'd know?"

"No," she said out of reflex.

" _You are going out then!_ "

"Can you please stop?" Hermione insisted as they entered the elevator.

"You'll tell me though, yeah?

She sighed loudly.

"I will, once I'm ready."

She knew it was inevitable that he'd find out. But was it so bad that she wanted to keep what she and Ben had a secret? None of her friends would approve, and Harry would most definitely _never_ approve. Was it so wrong to want to be happy for as long as possible?

In all honesty though... she didn't know what they were. They had never spoken about what their... _relationship_ was. It was confusing to say the least. Not to mention, she still had the small problem of being legally married to someone else. Although, she _supposed_ they were dating, even though they hadn't put a label on it. They'd been very stealthy in meeting up, spending most of their time together at either his house or in muggle towns where they figured they could go unrecognised.

"Does Ron know?"

"No, he doesn't, and he most certainly doesn't need to hear it from you," she instructed sternly.

"You'll tell him if it's serious though, right? If he hears it from someone else-"

"I know, I know," she agreed. "But just... not yet."

"Does that mean you've decided to sign the papers?" he asked, his tone becoming sad.

"Most likely, yes," said Hermione.

He nodded quietly, before looking to her seriously again. "You know, even though this whole thing with you and Ron, has been... _hard_... you know I'm happy for you, right? And even through all of this, I'm still here for you."

Her expression softened, and her eyes began to sting.

"Harry..."

He put his arm around her shoulders in a comforting half-hug. Hermione smiled a small smile, feeling more grateful than ever for her friendship with Harry.

_What on earth would she do without Harry?_

 

* * *

 

 

Athena Dolohov wandered the long hallway of a large Manor in the outskirts of London, heading for the large dining room. The place itself was well furnished, though the sheeted furniture and visible dust on the hardwood floors indicated it hadn’t been lived in for quite some time.

It gave the space of the building a rather distinct chill.

Stepping cautiously, sure not to touch any of the suspicious items lining the hall, she held her chin high. She had a reputation to uphold. She entered the room confidently, not permitting any of her nerves to show.

She was greeted with a nod of the head from a bearded man she had never met, who gestured for her to sit at the opposite end of the table.

"Ms. Dolohov."

"Who are you?" she asked cautiously, taking a seat at the long table.

"A humble servant, much like yourself."

She scowled at his answer. "This wasn't part of the deal. I want to see _him_."

"The Dark Lord has more pressing matters to deal with than meeting with newcomers."

She stared firmly with a slight raise of her chin, silently refusing to give in.

_She needed to see him._

"You can trust that anything that comes from me, comes from _he_ , himself,” he went on after seeing that she wasn’t going to respond. “I am his most trusted."

She clenched her jaw. "You know who I am. My family has been loyal to the Dark Lord for decades. The _least_ I deserve, is to see him," she insisted.

"And you will. But not today," the man stated without hesitation.

She pursed her lips.

"Why am I here?" She asked grudgingly.

Even without being able to see his mouth through his beard, she could see his smile.

"I have a message for you."


	11. Lies and Truths

The first two months of her relationship with Ben were two of the happiest months Hermione had ever had. They just _clicked._ It was effortless; he knew what she was thinking without her needing to explain herself, he _understood_ her like no one else had before. Not to mention, the _sex._

There was only _one_ hiccup.

They were still keeping it a secret.

Sure, it had been exciting at first, but they were both slowly growing tired of it, particularly Ben. He had tried bringing it up a few times, but each time she shot him down. It wasn't that she was _ashamed_ of their relationship... she just didn't want to deal with the ramifications of it getting out. He simply didn't have as much to lose from their relationship getting out as she did.

Not only were there Harry and Ron to consider, but there was also Kingsley and the press in the equation. What if Kingsley were to decide that he couldn't have them in their positions if they were together? Hermione didn't know about Ben, but _her_ job was almost as important to her as he had become. And not to mention, the tabloids had gone _wild_ upon hearing of her separation with Ron. She hated to think of the storm that would come once they learned that she had not only moved on, but moved on with her _boss._

Until that fateful Saturday.

They had spent the night at Hermione's cottage after finishing work the day before and had spent close to all of the following morning in bed.

Leaving Hermione to freshen up in the bathroom, Ben made his way downstairs in his work trousers and unbuttoned shirt, and flopped onto the couch. He relaxed into it, and took in the living room with more detail than he had the first few times he'd been there. Most nights they spent together were at his place, being both the closest to the Ministry and the largest. It was even rarer for him to find himself _alone_ at her cottage, meaning that his opportunities to thoroughly check it out had been limited.

While his place was large, hers was small. While his was tidy, hers was cluttered. Although, there were noticeable empty patches, which Ben assumed were still left from Ron moving out.

There were a few trinkets that caught his eye, particularly the large wooden clock with three hands. To his displeasure, one of them had a small picture with Ronald Weasley's face on it pointing to the words 'Shell Cottage'. The two other hands, one with a picture of Harry and the other with one of Hermione, were directed toward 'mortal peril'.

He couldn't help but wonder how long they'd been that way.

Suddenly feeling peckish, Ben pushed himself back off of the couch and made his way over to the fridge, re-buttoning his shirt as he went. He was a little disappointed seeing how lowly stocked it was, although he supposed Hermione didn't need to keep too much on hand for just herself.

Settling for a handful of grapes, Ben began in the direction of the couch again, planning on snooping through the papers that Hermione had left out on the coffee table. He was distracted however, by a soft knock on the door.

Feeling rather devious, he dashed over to answer it, not giving Hermione a chance to hide him from whoever her visitor was.

As soon as he opened the door and made out who the visitor was, a large smirk made its way onto his face.

"Mr. _Potter_ ," he greeted smugly, leaning against the door. "Fancy seeing you here."

The expression that formed on Harry's face gave Ben a rush of delight. Harry's eyes widened, before his mouth popped open in surprise slightly. Not giving him a chance to say anything, Ben turned so he was facing into the small cottage yet still blocking the door.

"Hermione! You have a visitor!" he called, his smug smile still firmly in place. He turned to face Harry once more. "Do come in, Potter, I was just about to head off, once I find my shoes."

He moved back into the cottage to where his shoes had been flung off the night before, pleased by the lack of movement he heard behind him.

"What? Who is -" Hermione cut off as she hurried down the stairs, her eyes widening as she took in Harry and his incredulous expression.

"Oh - Harry -"

"I was just leaving. I'll be in touch later, yes?" Ben winked in Hermione's direction, sparing her of the discomfort of had he kissed her goodbye. He dashed back to the front door and slipped past Harry, who had taken a hesitant step inside.

"See you at work, Potter," he murmured as he passed.

Harry didn't respond, but turned and closed the door behind the other man. He slowly turned back to Hermione, again meeting her eyes.

"Harry - I can ex-"

"Is it him?" He cut off quietly, asking even though her messy hair and his lack of shoes had already given him his answer.

Hermione opened her mouth to respond, no sound coming out.

"Is _he_ who you're seeing?"

"I - it's not - I -" she tried before sighing. _She had been caught, red handed._ "Yes."

Harry slowly brought a hand to his face, moving his fingers under his glasses to hold the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath.

"I can _explain_ -"

"WHAT IS THERE TO EXPLAIN?" He burst suddenly.

"Harry -"

"NO! You don't talk!" He continued. "I've stood by you! I've been with you this _whole time_ during your fall out with Ron! But _no more!_ "

" _I'm sorry_ -"

" _This is just - how could you? YOU KNOW WHO HE IS!_ " Harry yelled, beginning to pace angrily. "Well I'm not just going to _stand by_ and let him use you, to get to us, to _my family-_ "

"That's what you think this is?" Hermione asked in a small voice, taking a hesitant step forward. "You think I'd leave my family, my _friends,_ for something that isn't real?"

" _Of course that's what -_ " Harry cut off, his expression again changing back to shock. He breathed out incredulously for a moment and brought both of his hands to his head. "Oh my god. _Oh my god_."

"Harry, what -"

"You - _were you with him while you were still with Ron?!_ "

Hermione realised her mistake too late.

" _WHO ARE YOU?!_ " Harry yelled, taking her lack of response as a 'yes'. "God, _what_ has he _done_ to you, _how are you not seeing this?! He's driving us apart!_ What am I supposed to say to Ron?! How am I meant to look him in the eye _every day?!_ What the _actual fuck_ Hermione?!"

"It's not like that Harry!" Hermione yelled, matching his tone. "You don't _know_ him, you're still just _assuming!_ I don't know how many times I have to tell you that he's _not_ Voldemort for you to believe me! Don't you _trust_ me?"

"Not anymore!" he retorted. "He's got you wrapped around his little finger, _don't you see?_ This is exactly where he wants you, you're not a threat this way!"

"I'm here of my own free will!" she insisted. "You don't know him, you still haven't even given him a chance!"

" _Can you hear yourself?!_ This is how Voldemort works! He _manipulates_ you into _thinking_ that you have free will!"

" _He's not Voldemort!_ " Hermione yelled, her patience breaking at last.

Harry shook his head in exasperation. "He's blinded you," he stated quietly.

"Harry -"

Harry didn't say anything more as he looked away and shook his head. He raised his arms in a signal of surrender, before turning and slowly leaving the cottage, closing the door behind him.

Hermione gaped at the closed door and brought her hands to her head, covering her eyes.

_Fuck._

 

*

 

By the time Monday morning came, Hermione was _fuming._ She had been bottling up her rage for the rest of the weekend, and she hadn't heard from Ben at all, meaning that he _knew_ she was angry.

She stomped through the Ministry bright and early, heading directly for her office. She closed the door loudly behind her as she entered and stepped towards Ben's desk, with her arms crossed and a scowl firmly in place.

"Good morning," he greeted, his eyes wide with innocence.

Her eyes narrowed.

"...what?"

"You know what," she said scathingly.

He shifted slightly. "Are you still mad about Potter?"

"How could you?" she asked calmly.

He leaned back in his chair and sighed. "I didn't know who was at the door."

"We _agreed_ to keep this between us. Why would it matter _who_ was at the door?"

"I don't know... maybe I don't want to be your dirty little secret anymore."

" _Then you should have told me!_ " she screeched. " _We could have decided together!_ I'll be lucky if he ever speaks to me again!"

He slowly stood and stepped around to her.

"Then it's his loss, isn't it? Besides, I fail to see how it's any of his business -"

She stepped back, maintaining the distance between them.

"He's my _best friend_ , and he's convinced that -" she broke off, suddenly not wanting to share Harry's suspicions again. But the damage had been done.

"'Convinced' of what?" he asked with narrowed eyes.

"Never mind," she sighed and turned to head to her desk.

"No, what? He still thinks that I'm the _Dark Lord_?" he continued, following her through the office.

She didn't reply as she offloaded her bag onto her desk.

"Of course," he took her lack of response as a yes. " _Of course._ "

Hermione avoided his gaze and focused on her diary. He stepped away from her corner and she shook her head, inwardly scolding herself.

It took her quite some time to realise that he had left the office.

 

*

 

Ben strode through the foyer with a sense of purpose, bee lining for the Auror office. He pushed the door open without knocking, and upon seeing that Harry was the only one in the office, he closed it behind him.

Without saying anything, he pulled out a chair opposite Harry's desk, and took a seat directly across from him.

Harry put down his quill and stared coldly toward his boss.

"Can I help you?" he asked at last.

Ben exhaled through his nose.

"Look," he started, "I know that Saturday has put you in an uncomfortable situation with Hermione and I-"

"You don't say," Harry deadpanned.

"-and I understand if you want to keep your distance. But this, _delusion_ you seem to have with myself and You-Know-Who _needs to stop._ "

Harry's eyes narrowed.

"What will it take? Do you need to question me under Veritaserum? Would _you_ like to meet my mother? _What will it take?_ "

Harry leaned forward, folding his arms over on his desk. His green eyes were icy.

"You can fool the Ministry. You can fool Kingsley, you can fool Hermione. You can fool the _entire wizarding population_ , but you will _never_ fool me. I harboured a piece of your soul for _seventeen years. I know you_."

Ben leaned back in his chair and let out an exasperated, humourless laugh. He shook his head slightly before again meeting Harry's eyes.

"You know," Ben began, slowly leaning forwards again, "regardless of what you _think_ ," he said, his voice dropping to a low murmur, " _what are you going to do about it?_ "

With a small smile from the corner of his mouth, Ben rose from his chair and exited the office, leaving the door wide open as he left.

 

*

 

Hermione sat with her head on top of her arms at her desk. With her face down, she tried to drown out her surroundings as she pondered her abysmal social life.

It was nobody's fault but her own. She knew it. It was her own fault for not telling Harry sooner. Hell, she should have told Ginny and Ron too while she was at it. But she simply hadn't been able to burst her own happy bubble. Now, Harry may never speak to her again, Ginny probably knew by now, and Ron was certainly not far off.

_Oh, the things she would do if she had her time turner back!_

At least she still had Luna, she supposed.

Hermione straightened suddenly as she heard the sound of the office door opening followed by a familiar high-pitched greeting.

_Iris. Perfect._

She clenched her teeth as she heard her and Ben exchanging pleasantries.

She could ignore them, she decided stubbornly, looking back over the next report that needed finishing. It wouldn't be too hard. She had gone to school with _Malfoy,_ after all. She had become a _pro_ at ignoring people.

"I trust you'll be at the Gala next weekend?"

"Wouldn't miss it."

Hermione's eyes narrowed as her head shot up again as she quickly gave up on trying to ignore them.

"Would you like to go together? It would make the evening far more bearable."

Her hand tightened around her pen, her knuckles whitening. _Fucking Iris._

"I'm afraid that my girlfriend wouldn't appreciate me attending with another woman, but thank you for your offer," she heard him say smoothly.

Her stomach flipped.

"Oh, I wasn't aware that you were seeing anyone! Will we have the chance to meet her, then?"

"I'm not too sure as of yet, it's a rather new development," he said.

"Alright, well I look forward to it."

She didn't hear him respond, but heard the door close again, assuming that Iris had left with her wounded pride.

She bit her lip in thought. _Girlfriend. He had never called her his girlfriend before. Then again, what else was she?_ They spent every weekend together. They spent half of their weeknights together. They flirted completely inappropriately during work hours. _Maybe she_ was _his girlfriend._

With her ever-so slightly improved mood, Hermione managed to polish off not one, but _two_ reports before her clock chimed five. Still put out with Ben, she packed her things in a hurry and left the office with a mere wave in his direction.

As she reached the elevators, she was shocked that she had managed to get one all to herself at peak hour. She bashed on the button for the elevator to close in a hurry, desperate to get away for the night.

Just as the doors were about to close, a large, pale, _obnoxious_ hand came between the doors, preventing them from closing. Hermione audibly sighed as the doors reopened and Ben jumped in. Although he didn't say anything at first, she could _feel_ him looking at her.

"Can I come over tonight?" he asked suddenly, once the doors had safely closed.

" _Pfft,_ no," she said immediately, firmly looking away.

"Hermione -"

" _No._ "

"You can't stay mad at me forever."

"No, but I can certainly stay mad at you for a bit longer."

He took a moment to roll his eyes before he looked back down at her.

"I'm coming over tonight," he insisted.

She turned and shot him a scowl as the elevator chimed and the doors popped open.

With her arms firmly crossed, Hermione made her way through the Atrium with Ben in tow. Being peak hour, the walk to the apparition point was quite crowded, and she found herself quite surprised that he didn't bother keeping his distance.

 _Making another excuse to go public,_ she assumed.

Once she made it to the apparition point, she twisted on the spot before he had a chance to stop her, reappearing on her doorstep. She quickly unlocked the door and entered, closing it just in time to see Ben materialise behind it. She had the small satisfaction of closing the door in his face before he pushed it open again and followed her inside.

"Hermione."

"Hmm?" she hummed, dumping her things on her arm chair and making her way to the kitchen.

"Can we please -"

"No."

"We have to do it sometime."

"No _._ "

"But after Harry, don't you think that now is the best -"

" _No!_ "

"You're being ridiculous," he said, still following her.

She spun on her heels and started incredulously. " _I'm_ being ridiculous? _Me?_ "

"Yes."

She gaped.

"Can we please just _talk_ about this?" he continued.

"We've spoken about this before. Harry won't say anything, he may be _unhappy,_ but he's still my friend. It doesn't change -"

"I love you."

"- a thing," she finished, her eyes slowly widening as she processed his interruption. " _What?_ "

" _I love you_ ," he repeated. "And I'm sick of pretending not to."

Her mouth popped open.

"I - it - but - I -" she stammered, unable to form words. "We - I - we can't just - just do what we want," she said, eventually recovering from her shock. "This is _real life_ , and there are others in the equation here, others who will be _very_ unhappy with the truth. When word gets out -"

"When word gets out, we'll be fine," he said, pulling her around to face him. "You're _Hermione Granger_. I don't know why you're so terrified of a bloody magazine."

"It's not the magazine that I'm scared of!" She insisted.

"You said it yourself - Harry's unhappy, but he's still your friend. They won't abandon you," he said, catching on quickly. "And if they do, then they're not friends worth having, are they?"

She exhaled and allowed herself to relax into his hold.

"Soon," she eventually conceded, knowing all too well that it had to be done. "Okay? I promise."

*

_I love you, I love you, I love you._

Since that night, Hermione been hearing his voice echo in her mind on repeat.

_He loved her..._

_But did she love him?_

Hermione stared at her coffee stirring itself blankly, lost in her own world.

What she felt for him simply couldn't be compared with how she had felt about Ron. She thought that _that_ was love, but now... she had no clue anymore. With Ron, she had been _comfortable,_ but with Ben, she had _passion._

Different _types_ of love, perhaps?

But it had only been a few months. It had taken her _years_ to recognise how she felt about Ron. What if she was just swept up in the early stages of a new relationship?

Not to mention, she had _just_ come out of her marriage with Ron. Did she even _want_ another serious relationship so soon? Sure, he was intelligent, successful, tall, _handsome_ , but...

_Who was she kidding? Maybe she was in love._

Hermione pursed her lips and grabbed her mug, turning to leave from the staff room. However, once she looked up from the aforementioned mug, she met the bright green eyes of Harry.

"I have something I need you to see," he said immediately, gesturing for her to follow.

She did as he requested without any questions, grateful that he had even wanted to _see_ her again after finding out about her and Ben. She left her coffee on the counter and followed him to the elevator in silence, which he then directed to level 9, the Department of Mysteries.

Choosing not to push her luck, Hermione held her tongue as they waited. Once the elevator chimed, she followed him down a long corridor and into a small room on the left.

"Croaker was kind enough to let me borrow it for the morning," Harry said vaguely as he crossed the room.

"Borrow... what? What are we doing down here?" Hermione asked, taking in the gloomy room.

"I need to show you something," Harry said as he approached a large cabinet. He pulled it open to reveal a large, stone basin sitting atop of the top shelf. Quickly admiring the runes on the basin, Hermione immediately knew what it was.

"A pensieve? Harry, _what_ are we doing here?"

"You'll see," he said impatiently, gesturing downward. "The memory is ready to go when you are."

She glanced down at the basin and sent him a sceptical look.

"Please, Hermione," Harry pleaded.

With a sigh, Hermione nodded and stepped forward. She slowly lowered her head, bending until her face touched the rippling silver surface of the contents of the basin.

Falling through the memory, she landed gently in a cluttered sitting room in front of a large lady with a ginger wig. She was touching up her powder on her cheeks while an old house elf sat at her feet, lacing up her tight satin slippers.

Hermione, thoroughly confused, looked around the room to see Harry materialise next to her.

"Where... where are we?" She pondered aloud with a questioning frown.

"In a memory of a memory," Harry answered cryptically. "Watch."

"Hurry up, Hokey!" the woman urged. "He said he'd come at four, it's only a couple of minutes to and he's never been late yet!"

Hermione watched as the house elf straightened, and the woman put her puff away. Lifting the mirror, the woman took the time to admire herself in the mirror.

"How do I look?" she asked the house elf.

"Lovely, madam," the elf squeaked.

Hermione almost snorted at the obvious lie, unable to look away from the scarlet colour of the woman's cheeks.

The ringing of the doorbell echoed through the room, interrupting the woman's self-admiration.

"Quick, quick, he's here, Hokey!" the woman squawked. The elf hurried out of the room, dodging the clutter of the room as it went.

Hokey returned a moment later followed by a tall young man.

Hermione's breath caught in her throat as she immediately recognised the man as Ben. He was dressed immaculately in a plain black suit, though his stubble was missing, and his hair was slightly longer than she was used to seeing on him. He was thinner too, his cheeks gaunt with slight shadows under his eyes. With these changes, Hermione was almost struck with how _well_ it suited him. He actually looked _more_ handsome, if that were possible.

"I brought you flowers," he said quietly, addressing the old woman and producing a bunch of red roses from nowhere.

"You naughty boy, you shouldn't have!" the old lady squealed. "You do spoil this old lady, Tom... sit down, sit down... where's Hokey... ah..."

Hermione's eyes bulged as it all came together, and she realised exactly what it was that she was witnessing.

 _This wasn't Ben. This was_ Tom Riddle _. She was witnessing Harry's memory of the man who would become Voldemort._

Hermione watched, transfixed, as the woman offered Tom some cakes which Hokey had brought in.

Tom smiled a mechanical smile which gave Hermione _chills._

Harry was right; he did look _just_ like Ben. But, at the same time... he also _didn't_. Aside from the obvious differences, there were many subtle differences between the men. While Tom Riddle spoke and smiled mechanically, the warmth that Ben had was missing. And the way he moved - there was something more... _rigid_ about Tom Riddle.

Harry reached out and placed his hand onto her shoulder.

"Have you seen enough?"

She nodded hesitantly, not taking her eyes off of Riddle.

"Alright."

Hermione felt a pulling sensation, followed by the feeling of moving upward as the scene before her dissipated.

Coming out of the pensieve and returning to the cold room of the Ministry, Harry turned to Hermione expectantly.

"Well?"

"I - I don't know."

" _What?_ What do you mean you don't know?"

"I - the man in the memory -"

" _Tom Riddle._ "

"- while it's true, he _does_ look like Ben... there are differences."

"I - _are you kidding me?_ Were you not just in that memory with me? _They're the same person, Hermione, there's no other way!_ "

"Harry, you said it yourself, that's a memory of a memory! How much can you trust it? Now that you've met Ben, and you know that they look similar, you might have subconsciously altered it!"

Harry's eyes widened.

" _Can you even hear yourself?!_ "

"Of course I can, Harry!" Hermione snapped. "But it's true! You might have!"

Harry frowned. "But - there are others. _I_ have others. Or we could ask Slughorn... or, we could go to Hogwarts, surely Professor McGonagall wouldn't mind us using their pensieve."

Hermione sighed and shook her head slowly.

"Or we could - _what?_ "

She brought her hand to her head and massaged her temples. "You've been urging me to trust you for _months_ now _._ But... perhaps... I need you to trust _me_ this time."

Harry looked at her as if she had gone slightly loopy. "It's not that I don't trust _you_ , Hermione, it's that I don't trust _him._ "

Hermione groaned. "But it's _not him!_ "

"How are you so sure?" Harry asked, sending her an exasperated look.

"He... he _loves_ me," she insisted. "Both Dumbledore and yourself have said it - Voldemort was incapable of love. He didn't understand it. But Ben - he - he's not like that, Harry. He's _warm,_ and _kind,_ and _caring._ He's all of the things that Voldemort - that _Tom Riddle_ isn't," she finished.

Harry met her eyes, a soft frown forming between his eyebrows. "You... you really believe him, don't you?"

"Yes, Harry! Haven't you been listening to a word I've said?"

He took a deep breath and looked away, sadness clear in his eyes.

"All of those things... Hermione, _that's_ how he won them over. His _Death Eaters,_ his _professors,_ even poor old _Hepzibah Smith._ This is what he does... and if you can't see that, then... I fear for you."

Hermione looked away, her eyes stinging while her mind processed his words.

"For him to be _this_ interested in you... for him to go to the effort of splitting you and Ron up, for him to make you _love_ him... Hermione, he's clearly got big plans. This is not his _normal,_ he's got _something coming,_ and we need to stop him. I don't have the advantage of his horcrux anymore. We're more vulnerable than ever, and we _need you,_ Hermione. We need to stay strong, to stay _together._ "

She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Her mind was moving faster than she could process.

 _What if Harry was right?_ Could _he be right? She had spent months with Ben, she had given him her_ everything. _But... it wasn't only one way. He had let her into his life, too. He had held her late at night, declared his love for her. He had comforted her, looked after her, saved her_ life. _Those weren't things Voldemort would do._

_But this is not his normal. Because he had a plan? Or because it's really not him?_

She returned his gaze, taking a moment to muster her words. "I'm _sorry_."

Harry's sad eyes looked away and he took a deep breath. "You know I'm not going to stop, don't you? Regardless of where you stand," he said eventually.

She smiled sadly.

"You wouldn't be Harry Potter if you did."


	12. A Staff Party

" _Hermione_ ," she could practically _feel_ his voice caress her, it was so smooth.

His kisses trailed down her neck, each sending chills through her body. His cool hands brushed her torso, stopping to grip her tightly around the waist. She tilted her head back, allowing him better access to her collarbone.

" _All mine,_ " he said lowly in her ear before pulling her around to face him. He held her possessively and tilted her head back up. She slowly opened her eyes as she felt him moving closer, bringing their bodies closer together.

He brought his lips down to hers, and she kissed him back with a passion. She ran her fingers through his soft hair and moaned in the back of her throat.

She pulled back and whispered against his mouth, " _I love you_."

Waiting for a response, Hermione bit her lip. As he didn't reply, she moved back to look at him. Her muscles contracted as she met his eyes, his dark, alluring, _red_ eyes.

_Tom Riddle._

*

" _NO!_ "

She shot up with a yell, taking a moment for her to realise she was in _bed._

Breathing deeply, she threw off the silky sheets and forced herself out of the bed. She shakily padded over to the ensuite, closing the door behind her. She approached the sink and bent over, her stomach threatening to empty its contents.

_It wasn't real, it wasn't real, he's not here._

She firmly closed her eyes, attempting to push out the memory of his enchanting red eyes.

_It wasn't real, it wasn't real, he's not here._

Harry and his memory had gotten to her. That's all this was. She was _safe._ She had _nothing_ to fear. It was all just a nightmare.

_Wasn't it?_

"Are you alright?"

The door to the ensuite creaked open, and Ben popped his head in, eyes squinting from the light. She quickly looked away, not sure if she could even _look_ at him without the bile rising in her throat. _He looked so much like him._

"Yes," she said in a small voice, silently willing for him to _leave her be._ "Just a nightmare."

Her pushed the door fully open and approached her. He brought a hand to her back, and gently massaged her shoulder. His touch sent shivers down her spine, though his touch was warm, unlike the man in her dream.

She squeezed her eyes shut once more, attempting to empty her mind. It was madness, _madness._ He was not Voldemort, not Tom Riddle. There was _no way._

"Come back to bed," he said softly, moving his hand to grasp her own.

She hesitated before she slowly nodded and began to relax in his hold. _It's not him,_ she told herself as she allowed herself to be pulled back into the bedroom.

 _It wasn't real, it wasn't real,_ she repeated the words in her mind over and over as she lay with his arm snaked around her torso.

It took her a long time to drift back to sleep that night.

 

*

 

Her nightmares soon became unrelenting. Tom Riddle was visiting her dreams almost every night, whispering sweet nothings, closing his hands around her throat, pressing his body against hers. _It was driving her mad._ What was worse, was that she couldn't _tell_ Ben what was making her thrash and yell at night.

Every time she flinched at his touch, she felt a sharp pang of guilt. It wasn't his fault that they looked so similar, yet... the line in her mind separating him from Tom Riddle that was once so solid was beginning to blur.

After a solid two weeks, she began taking a dreamless sleep potion, which brought with it much needed relief. Although she couldn't shake the nagging thought; perhaps this was the universe's way of telling her that she had made a mistake. Perhaps she shouldn't have dived in head first into their relationship, and should have put more effort into taking things slowly.

But then, she'd have a wonderful dinner with him that made her doubt her doubts. Or he'd hold her close and tell her that he loved her, and she was back to believing that her dreams were utter nonsense.

_Curse Harry._

Hermione spent the following Sunday night, the evening of the Ministry of Magic's staff Gala, getting ready alone. She was grateful for the distraction from her own thoughts, and also slightly glad that she couldn't attend the Gala with Ben. This way, she wouldn't be quite so on edge all night. She also hoped the socialising of the night would distract her enough to help stop the nightmares. She figured that perhaps it was the current monotony of her work life that was contributing to her inability to shake off Harry's memory.

She had bought a gown weeks earlier and was quite eager to finally have the chance to wear it. It was a navy halter neck dress, with a ribbon tie at the back.

_Attractive, yet still work appropriate._

After spending a couple of hours getting ready, she arrived at the Ministry that Sunday night feeling very alone and very self-conscious. Normally she wouldn't put quite so much effort into looking so nice for work, and for many of her co-workers, this was the first time they would see her with sleek hair as opposed to her usual bush. She hesitantly made her way from the fireplace she had appeared in over toward the reception area.

Being the biggest open space, the party was being held in the Atrium of the Ministry. The large fountain was decorated with fairy lights which reflected off of the shiny polishes of the hard wood floor and walls. Candles floated above the heads of the attendees in a Hogwarts fashion, their light reflecting attractively off of the golden lettering that lined the light blue ceiling. Two bars had been set up on either side of the large hall, and Hermione quickly spotted trays of finger food and champagne floating throughout the space.

She eyed off a tray of tall glasses close to her, but as she decided to head over and take one, she spotted Harry and Ginny in close conversation behind the aforementioned tray. Harry looked dapper in his standard black wizarding robes, while Ginny stood confidently in her white cocktail dress. She quickly debated going over to greet them. Having not spoken to Harry since he had shown her his memory, she was quite unsure on where they stood.

Had Harry told Ginny about Ben? And what had Ron told her? She hadn't had the chance to speak with her at all since their split, and quite frankly, she was still scared to find out where her former sister-in-law stood.

But, ever the Gryffindor, Hermione shook her hands in a feeble attempt to stop them sweating and headed over to the Potters.

"Hermione!" Ginny exclaimed as she reached them, pulling her into a quick hug. "It feels like it's been _forever!_ "

Behind her, Harry nodded in greeting.

"I'm sorry, things have just been so hectic lately, and -"

"Don't be sorry! _I_ should be sorry, especially with you and Ron, I should have been there for you more than ever!" Ginny said.

Harry stood stoically, watching their interaction without emotion. Hermione's eyes glanced between the two, taken by surprise that Harry hadn't told her about her new relationship.

"Oh no, not at all, you've got your hands full enough with James, and this one on the way. You don't need to worry about me," Hermione said with a hint of guilt.

"Nonsense," Ginny said, brushing her off. "Here, I may not be able to drink, but you can have one for me," she continued, grabbing a glass of champagne from one of the serving platters that had hovered its way over to them.

"I've just got to be off to see Croaker," Harry said to Ginny, gesturing to the far side of the room. "I'll be back soon, alright?"

He gave her a quick peck on the cheek and left the two women, disappearing into the crowd. Hermione felt a pang of hurt. _He could at least have stayed to say hello._

"So, have you heard from Luna?" Ginny asked excitedly, seemingly not noticing anything strange about Harry's behaviour.

"No..." Hermione answered suspiciously. "Should I have?"

"She's _engaged!_ " Ginny just about jumped.

" _Really?_ I didn't even know she was seeing anybody! Who is it then? Anyone we know?"

"I didn't know either, until the wedding invitation came this evening. Yours must not be far behind," she explained. "And it's _Rolf Scamander._ I'm not sure whether you'd have met him, he was a few years below me in school."

"Scamander? As in _Newt?_ " Hermione couldn't help but ask.

She nodded. "His grandfather."

Hermione took a large sip of her champagne and felt a small bubble of happiness for Luna. "That's great. For a while, I didn't think - I mean, there were those rumours about _Neville,_ but -"

" _I know_ , you should have seen how I screamed seeing the invitation. Wait until you see it, it's got _rainbows_ and -"

Hermione found her eyes scanning the crowd as she automatically responded to Ginny's prattling. Her attention focused to the far right of the space, by the end bar. Leaning against the polished wood, stood a tall man whom she had no trouble identifying as Ben even from behind. He was dressed in a simple black suit and was in a close conversation with Penrose, who was grasping a rather large glass of butterbeer.

As if he had eyes in the back of his head, Ben turned to find the set of eyes on him. As their eyes met, Hermione quickly turned back to Ginny, forcing her attention back.

"- the glitter went _everywhere_ , I'm telling you," Ginny was saying. "But anyway... how are _you?_ It must be a big change, living alone again. Ron hasn't said anything about it to _me,_ but George thinks he's struggling a bit."

"It - it's definitely a change," she conceded, trying not to get too hung up on Ron. "But I think being apart... it's what we both needed."

Ginny gave her a sad smile. "You're still my sister, you know. No matter what the _law_ says. You can't shake me that easily," she said with a nudge.

Hermione laughed and felt so overcome with relief that she thought she might cry. She had spent a month imagining all of the different things Ginny might yell, how she'd break off their friendship and refuse to ever see her again. But now, hearing her say that... it made her realise how much she needed her female best friend. As much as she appreciated Harry, he simply wasn't a _woman._

"Hermione," a familiar voice interrupted her thoughts from her right. "Mrs. Potter. You both look exquisite this evening," Ben's gaze lingered on Hermione for a brief moment.

She met his eyes and immediately put in a conscious effort to keep her cool. In his sharp, black suit, he looked even more like the memory of Tom Riddle than ever, and her initial gut instinct told her to run.

Looking back to her friend, she noticed that Ginny, too, seemed uncomfortable.

"I was hoping I could catch you at some point. We've got an update on one of the cases, so if you have the chance..."

"I'll come find you," she said quickly, giving him a small smile.

His gaze lingered on her for a moment before he nodded. "Of course," he said quickly as he turned back to Ginny. "Have a lovely evening."

Both Hermione and Ginny watched his back as he disappeared into the crowds once more.

"Creepy," Ginny said quickly.

Hermione shrugged and chose not to comment, not wanting to dig herself even further into her hole.

Her catch up with Ginny soon felt like it was exactly what she had been needing. She hadn't realised how much she had _missed_ her until seeing her again. It wasn't long before it felt like no time had passed, like all was well in the world again. In no time at all, Ginny had coaxed Hermione onto her third glass of champagne. She was sure she was trying to get her drunk on purpose, but each sip brought a burst of warmth with it, so she didn't have it in her to argue.

"...and I -" Hermione abruptly stopped talking as a small memo collided with her chest. Frowning, she unfolded the note in a hurry. As she read its content, her frown deepened.

 _Meet me out in the admin office. It's urgent._  
_\- Ben_

She rolled her eyes. "Oh for _Merlin's -_ I'm sorry," she said, looking to Ginny apologetically. "It must be important, I'll be right back."

Hermione turned on her heel and pushed through the crowds toward admin. she hurried behind the front desk and out into the secluded offices behind. She sighed a breath of relief once she was alone, and stood for a moment to stop the champagne-induced dizziness.

_Now, where was he?_

The corridor and the offices branching off of it were all dark, abandoned by their staff for the weekend. She marched through the main corridor, briefly checking the smaller offices and cubicles as she passed.

She let out a small yelp as she felt a strong pair of hands grab her arms from behind and pull her over. He pulled her over to the left into an empty office and spun her around to face him.

"I'd begun to think you weren't coming," he said in a low voice.

She glared at him for a moment. "What am I doing here?"

"I wanted to speak with you," he pushed her backward until she was pressed against the wall.

"About...?"

"About how _amazing_ you look this evening," he murmured before trailing kisses down her neck.

She rested her head against the wall, letting him go for a moment. "Ben..."

"Hmm?" He moved upward, running his hands down her waist.

"What if someone sees?"

"Let them," he whispered, his hands moving down to squeeze the back of her thighs. "Then they'll know you're _all mine._ "

He pulled her body flush against his and pressed his mouth to hers.

She stiffened. _All mine, all mine, all mine._

Feeling her muscles contract, he pulled away.

"Are you alright?" he asked softly.

She nodded, suddenly feeling _trapped_ in his hold.

"You don't look it."

"I - I am, I just -" she tried as she pushed back in his shoulders.

She sighed. _Curse Harry_. So he had said two words that her _dream_ of Tom Riddle had said. _So what?_ There must have been _many_ words they had both said. It didn't mean anything. _It wasn't even the real Tom Riddle._

She shouldn't be having these doubts, not when it felt so right with Ben, not when she _loved_ him.

_She loved him?_

"Hermione?" he tilted her chin up with a finger and frowned down at her. "What's going on? You've been so... _tense_ lately."

"I -" she started, taken off guard by her thoughts. "I love you," she blurted, knowing it was both true and one of the few things she could say to explain why she'd been so distant without mentioning her dreams.

Her words gave her a second rush of Déjà vu, again bringing her thoughts back to her dreams. She hesitantly looked up to meet his eyes, and immediately relaxed. This time, his eyes remained perfectly brown. He broke out in a grin at her words, and bent down to kiss her again.

And this time she didn't pull away.

As she let him kiss her senseless, she felt like all of her worries, all her of nightmares and hesitations were all for _nothing._ Really, why had she let Harry get to her so? She had been _ridiculous,_ and it had almost cost her what felt like the _love of her life_.

"...and I must say, Dorothy seems to be under the - _oh!_ "

Hermione shoved Ben off of her quickly as the voice echoed through the secluded office and her mind switched back on. She had hoped that whoever it was may not have seen too much in the dark, but as she met the large eyes of Iris in the doorway, her stomach dropped.

"Oh, I'm _so sorry,_ we didn't realise anyone would be down here," she chirped, something between shock and delight written on her face.

"That's quite alright, we were just heading back in," Ben said, adjusting his tie.

"Don't rush on our account, we'll just, head down the hall," she said with a giggle, before directing her companion on. She quickly turned back to them and nodded. "Mr. Jenkins, _Ms. Granger_."

Hermione felt the blood draining from her face.

"Oh no," she breathed.

"Don't worry, we'll-"

"'Don't worry'? ' _Don't worry?!_ '" Hermione repeated almost hysterically. " _The whole Ministry will have heard about this by the end of the week!_ "

"Well, after Harry, we said we'll go public soon, didn't we?" He pointed out. "We'll just have to do that a little bit sooner than expected."

Hermione gawked.

"We can meet with Kingsley first thing tomorrow," he said.

"But - this - _tomorrow?_ We can't -"

"Calm down, love. We knew this wouldn't be far off."

" _But -"_

"But nothing. It's about time we were honest with everyone," he said pushing her gently back against the wall.

" _Ben..._ "

"You know Iris. She's probably telling everyone with ears as we speak. And besides, you're not changing my mind now, so you may as well go along with it," he said firmly, bending back down to capture her mouth in another kiss.

She kissed him back for a moment before pushing back again.

" _But I -_ "

" _No._ I love you," he interrupted, cupping her face with his hands. "And it's time for everyone to know. Now, kiss me."

And she did.

 

*

 

Hermione tossed and turned all night trying to keep her mind off of what was to come the following day. But, come morning, it was proving impossible. Her panic was impossible to hide. In a bid to calm her nerves, Ben had made her breakfast and assured her over and over that all would sort itself out.

She had a hard time believing him.

She and Ben arrived at the Ministry together half an hour early. Hermione was grateful for his company; there was no way she would have been able to force herself into Kingsley's office alone.

The butterflies in her stomach threatened to escape as they waited in the elevator. Seeing her distress, Ben took her hand.

"I love you," he said quietly.

She gulped.

"I love you, too," she whispered.

As the doors slid open, Ben pushed her out gently with a hand on the small of her back. The walk down the corridor of the first floor seemed to take an eternity. With each step she took toward Kingsley's office, Hermione could feel her heart rate speed up. Her feet felt heavy; it was as if her body was telling her to run in the opposite direction.

She took another deep breath and met Ben's eyes as they reached the large wooden door. He gave her a small nod before knocking gently before she had the chance to stop him. The muffled sound of Kingsley calling for them to come in echoed from the door, and Ben slowly pushed it open and entered. Hermione followed closely, closing it behind her, and hesitantly took the seat beside Ben. She sent an unsure smile to Kingsley in greeting, who was looking back expectantly.

"How are you?" She awkwardly asked, breaking the silence.

"Wonderful," Kingsley said quickly, not wasting any time with niceties. "Now, what's this about? Has there been a development with the case?"

Hermione swallowed. "No, no there hasn't. We just... we just wanted to... Ben and I thought that... well..."

"What Hermione means to say, is that she and I are seeing each other," Ben suddenly said, as if it were a simple fact.

Hermione paled.

Ben glanced over at her quickly before turning back to Kingsley. "We wouldn't waste your time bringing it up, but knowing the regulations that are in place with the Ministry, we thought it would be best to let you know ourselves, before you hear it along the grapevine."

Kingsley glanced between the two of them, his expression becoming statuesque. His gaze lingered on Hermione as his eyebrows moved slightly closer together. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before he seemingly found the words.

"...And this -" he gestured between them with his hand, "- this is - I mean, you are serious?"

"Very," Ben answered at once.

Kingsley's eyes flicked between them again as he brought his hand up to massage his temples.

"Can you assure me that this won't come in the way of your work?"

" _Of course!_ You don't need to worry. Work _always_ comes first," Hermione said immediately, finding the ability to speak once again.

Kingsley leaned back in his chair, holding her eye contact.

"Alright. You are well aware of the fall out this will likely have with the Daily Prophet? I daresay you may very well make the front page."

"Yes," Hermione said sadly.

"And you're willing to tolerate it?"

Hermione cleared her throat as Ben answered for them.

"Yes."

Kingsley nodded and exhaled.

"Alright," he slowly repeated. "Was there anything else?"

"That was it," Ben answered.

"Well… thank you for letting me know," Kingsley said with a nod as way of dismissing them. "But, if you don't mind, Hermione, could you please stay for a moment? I'd just like another quick word," he added quickly as the two of them began to rise from their seats.

Hermione stopped and nodded too enthusiastically as she glanced back up at Ben. He rested his hand on her shoulder briefly before quickly stepping out of the office, closing the door behind him.

Hermione and Kingsley sat in silence for a moment after the door had closed. She softly cleared her throat, and after a moment, Kingsley leaned forward.

"Is this... do you know what you are doing?" He eventually asked in a low voice.

"Yes. _Yes,_ I know it seems _insane,_ but -"

"If- if this is some plan that Harry's come up with, to keep an eye on him, then I must strongly advise-"

" _What? No,_ no, of course it isn't!"

"Forgive me, Hermione, but I hope you can understand how this looks."

"Yes, I do. I completely understand. And this - I _know_ it's insane, but this... he... it's taken me by surprise. I hadn't expected to feel this way. And he... we just _click_ , you know? It's so easy with us, we understand each other," she tried to explain.

Kingsley sighed.

"You... you're being cautious, aren't you?" he questioned. "I worry, that in case you - in case _we_ are wrong about him, in case Harry, by some chance, might be right..."

"I know, I've thought that through. But, it's like you said. This puts me in a unique situation to keep an eye on him. If there's ever anything, any _inkling_ of something suspicious... you'll be the first to know."

Kingsley nodded.

"Just... look after yourself."

"You don't need to worry," she assured.

From his expression, it was clear that Kingsley thought he _did_ need to worry.

 

*

 

Two weeks later, Harry, Ron and Ginny sat around the circular dining table of the Potter residence, all deep in thought. In the centre of the table, was a copy of that day's Daily Prophet, opened up to page four. In the centre of the page, was a moving photograph of Ben and Hermione walking down Diagonal Alley together. The picture began with Ben grinning down at Hermione, before lacing their hands together. Above the image was a headline; **ROMANCE BLOSSOMS AT THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC**.

"Ron -"

Ron held a hand up, signalling Ginny not to speak. Ginny sent a sideways glance to her husband, who shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"I just -" Ron started, focusing down toward his hands. "I can't believe she didn't tell me."

"She didn't tell any of us," Ginny said, missing the way that Harry scratched his head.

"I knew it," Ron said quietly. "I _knew_ he was up to something. The first time I saw him, the way he _looked_ at her, with his _damn_ cardigan. _Who even wears cardigans?_ "

Ginny cleared her throat.

"Have - have we decided that until we can definitively prove otherwise, he's _You-Know-Who?_ " She asked. "Because I mean, maybe that's why she hasn't said anything. Maybe she's under a spell or - a potion?"

Ron's head snapped back up.

" _Yeah!_ " he said hopefully.

Harry gasped.

"What about polyjuice?" Harry asked suddenly.

"What about it?" Ron questioned.

"To prove that he's Voldemort," he said as if it were obvious. "If he's just changed his appearance somehow, it wouldn't change who he really is. _So_ , if we can manage to get a hair, I can get some polyjuice from work. One of us will take it, and if I'm right, we'll turn into Voldemort. The one we're used to, that is."

Ginny grinned.

"I have an idea, too," Ron announced, much to the surprise of both Ginny and Harry. "We can get in touch with Neville and McGonagall, and organise him to go to Hogwarts!"

They stared at him blankly.

"And _why_ on _earth_ would we do that?" Ginny questioned.

"Remember when he started? Hermione did a background check! 'Benjamin Jenkins' never attended Hogwarts, but we all know it was You-Know-Who's home away from home. If he goes there and knows his way around, we'll know he's been lying!"

Harry and Ginny looked to him and grinned.

"Ron, that... that's _brilliant!_ " Harry exclaimed.

"Why are you so surprised?" Ron asked indignantly.

"Oh, me next," Ginny said. "We need to rule out the Imperius curse."

Ron sat up slightly straighter.

Harry hummed thoughtfully. "She says she's there of her own free will, and I haven't _noticed_ any big differences in how she's been acting... I don't know... maybe?"

"I - yeah. _Yeah,_ it could be," Ron said, in a slightly happier tone.

"Is there a way to tell?" Ginny asked, looking between her brother and husband.

"Well... there's the thief's downfall in Gringotts. I'm not sure if we could get her there though," Harry said, deep in thought.

"Is there a potion or something?" asked Ron.

"I don't know... this is normally where Hermione would come in with the answer," Harry said sadly.

"Maybe you could spend a bit more time with her, Ginny? See if you notice anything strange?" Ron suggested.

"Yeah," she agreed.

"I'm not sure if that's the best idea," Harry said, glancing down at his wife. "You'd be in close contact with _him_ that way. What if he did something to you, or the baby?"

Ginny rolled her eyes.

"Besides, Hermione was always the best of us at Occlumency, and she's strong-willed. Surely she'd be able to resist the Imperius curse?"

Ron sat up and gasped.

"I've got it!" He announced. "What if _you_ try placing the curse on her?"

Ginny and Harry looked at him as if he had lost it.

"No, bear with me! If it doesn't _work_ , then we'll know it's because someone else has her under it! Or if she resists, then we'll know she's too strong-willed for it!"

Harry's spirits lifted for a moment. " _Yeah!_ "

Ginny looked between them as if they had _both_ lost it. "But... no offence Harry, but could your Imperius curse even come close to comparing with one cast by _Voldemort?_ "

Harry slumped in his chair as he realised she was right. "Well it's worth a shot anyway, isn't it? It's all we've got."

To that, they all agreed.

"And then... then there's Amortentia," Ginny chimed.

The trio were quiet for a moment before Harry spoke up.

"Alright, I'll try to find a hair in his office this week sometime, and if I can manage to get Hermione on her own outside of the Ministry somewhere, I'll give the Imperius curse a test, too. I'll also see if I can slip an antidote into one of her morning coffees. If she's not under the influence of a love potion, then it shouldn't harm her," Harry rationalised. "Ginny, can you get in contact with Neville? And Ron... just... hang tight, alright?"

Ginny nodded, happily, while Ron slumped in his chair.

"I feel so useless," he said sadly. "Maybe... maybe I should see Kingsley about rejoining."

"Hold on, ' _rejoining?_ '" Harry asked.

"The Aurors!"

Harry shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

"I don't know... for that to happen, your application would have to go through both Hermione and _Voldemort._ I highly doubt he'd take you."

"Kingsley would let me back in. I doubt I'd even have to reapply," Ron said confidently.

"Remember how you went the first time?" Ginny asked, asking what Harry had been thinking. "It wasn't a good place for you."

"Well, things have hit the fan now! I could _help_ if I came back. George would be fine in the shop without me for a while."

"I don't think it's a good idea," said Ginny. "You'd be around Hermione every day."

"So? It will give me a chance to win her back."

Harry and Ginny glanced at each other, neither having the heart to disagree with him.

 

*

 

Hermione threw her copy of the Daily Prophet on the centre of Ben's desk.

"This is a _nightmare!_ How did they even _take_ this?" she demanded, beginning to pace back and forth. "Oh my god, I have to see Ginny, I have to see _Ron._ "

Ben glanced down at the paper before frowning at her.

"We knew this would happen," he said calmly. "You said yourself, Iris was _bound_ to tip someone off."

"That doesn't mean we should just _let it!_ "

He rolled his eyes. "I'm sorry, but you've have plenty of chances to speak with them before this. You _chose_ not to."

She gaped at him.

"Don't look at me like that, I wasn't stopping you."

"Y - you're meant to be on _my_ side!"

"I am on your side."

" _Well you're certainly not acting like it!_ "

He frowned and put his quill down.

"I for one, am _happy_ this has been published. Now that it's out there, we won't have to hide anything anymore. It's a blessing in disguise."

"For _you_ , maybe."

"Yes."

She bit her lip and clenched her fists.

"Alright, well if you're done with your panic, I have some news," Ben announced. Hermione's head shot back up.

He slowly rose from where he sat and handed her a thin letter which had already been opened.

"Look what was waiting for me this morning," he said with a growing smile.

She quickly grabbed and opened it, scanning the letter quickly.

 _9 pm, 24th July, lake Buttermere north._  
_A.D._

"This - this is from... Dolohov?" she deduced.

He nodded happily. "I'm not sure what's at lake Buttermere, but we should go."

She stared at him for a moment. "A - are you _crazy?_ This could be a trap!"

He rolled his eyes as if he had expected her to say that. "Lake Buttermere is _huge._ We might not even be able to find whoever it is we should be meeting. Besides, the trail is running cold again, _we have_ to go."

"I don't know..."

"We've got nothing else. We'll go with a team," he suggested.

She bit her lip nervously. "You have to clear it with Kingsley," she warned.

"Of course," he said, flashing his teeth. "You know that I would never _dream_ of doing anything without Kingsley's approval."


	13. Truths and Lies

Hermione had grown accustomed to being stared at. Being in the spotlight was a side effect of having Harry Potter as a best friend that she was willing to deal with. But over the years, as they grew and settled down, the attention had slowed down. But now, thanks to her 'scandal', it had all come flooding back.

Ben, annoyingly, was a natural. It was utterly unfair. He would politely nod to the press as he saw them, they'd snap a quick photo, and they'd be on their way. Most of the time, they'd be _good_ photos, too.

She wasn't so lucky.

They'd begun following her _everywhere,_ whether she was with him or not. To the coffee shop, to Gringotts, to the Ministry. She couldn't scratch her ass without the Daily Prophet or, worse, _Witch Weekly_ , catching wind of it. It was a downright invasion of privacy, but there wasn't anything she could _do_ about it.

_You knew this would happen,_ she'd tell herself. _You can get through this, you've been through worse. Soon they'll get bored._

So, she had to grit her teeth and ignore them. Although she did wish they'd hurry up and find a new story.

The only thing that could possibly be worse than the media attention, was the attention from her co-workers. She never exactly _heard_ them saying anything about her, but she'd walk into the staff room and all would go silent. She'd look up from her coffee and find everyone _staring_ at her. It didn't take much for her to know what they must have been saying.

_She was sleeping with her boss to get ahead._

As a result, she'd started arriving at work extra early to enjoy her morning coffee while the staff room was deserted. But, that Thursday, she was caught off guard when someone actually _joined_ her by the sink.

And it was _Harry._

"Good morning," she said timidly, in a way of testing the waters.

"Hullo," Harry muttered. "I was hoping to catch up with you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, I need a boost to my Port Key allowance, and I thought that maybe... you know..."

Her shoulders slumped in disappointment. "Oh. I suppose I can organise that, yeah," she said unenthusiastically.

"Great," he chirped. "That's - that's great, thanks."

She nodded stiffly and went to reach for her coffee and leave.

"Wait - Hermione?" He quickly said. "I just - I also wanted to make sure you that you're doing alright."

She smiled. "Yeah - yeah, I am. You know how it feels to be in the spotlight, of course. But it's okay. I'm used to it, I _expected -_ " she broke off as her eyes drifted downward, and she saw him pull his hands away from her mug. "Did you - _did you just put something in my coffee?_ "

He resembled a deer caught in headlights. "I - no - it's - it's not..."

" _Harry!"_

He looked away awkwardly. "I _may_ have put an antidote in it," he said, deciding to it was best to come clean.

Her eyes narrowed. "An _antidote?_ "

"For... for a love potion."

Her eyes widened again. For a moment she found herself speechless. "A _love potion_ \- _that's what you think -_ " she broke off as she looked around them and lowered her voice. " _You really think he's been feeding me a love potion?_ "

"Well it's -"

"That's _really_ how much you trust me?"

"Well Ginny and Ron agree -"

"Oh, so _Ronald_ put you up to this?!" She demanded, and took hold of her mug.

"No, that's not what I meant, we're just _worried -_ "

Looking him straight in the eye, she brought the mug to her lips and took a large gulp. Seeing a look of surprise on his face, she turned away and stormed back toward her office.

_How dare he?_

Although she supposed that it at least showed they cared.

_But Ron had no business accusing him of feeding her a love potion!_

But she supposed that to him, her relationship must have seemed like it had come from nowhere.

_They could have at least just spoken to her!_

But an antidote wouldn't harm the drinker if they weren't under the influence of a potion.

_They still should have spoken to her!_

She huffed at her own thoughts as she entered her office.

"Oh, Hermione -" Ben started as if he wanted something, but broke off upon seeing how red her face was. "Are you alright?"

" _Peachy._ "

"Do you need a break or something?"

" _What do you want?_ " She snapped.

His eyes widened innocently.

"Just letting you know that in case you had forgotten, tomorrow is the 24th, and Kingsley has approved us heading out to the lake," he said timidly.

" _Wonderful._ "

With that, she moved through the office and plonked herself at her desk. Feeling slightly guilty for how sharp she had been, she pulled the first report that needed doing from her pile, and set to work, determined not to let Ron's antics get to her.

*

The raid to the lake that Friday night was organised very similarly to their meeting with Fawley. Four groups of five were assigned, and they would be taking separate Port Keys to different parts of the lake. If any of the groups encountered Florian Evrard (or _anyone_ for that matter), they were to alert the other groups by a very similar manner to how Hermione had spread the dates for the DA back at Hogwarts. Each of the groups had additional Port Keys, which corresponded to one from each of the other groups. When a group wanted to signal the others, they would simply activate their Port Key. The other groups corresponding one would heat up for exactly one minute before it left, and brought its holders to the location of the group who had activated it. It was a convenient, yet complex piece of magic.

It was proving to be a long night. Hermione had been assigned to a group with Ben, Finch, Peakes, and an Auror who she hadn't personally met before, Cooper. Because they didn't know the whereabouts of the people they were meant to be finding, they had to move through the forest in silence. They had been treading through the dense forest surrounding the lake almost in silence for over an hour before one of the Port Keys, held by Finch, started to heat up.

They quickly congregated and were pulled over to the far north-west of the lake. They had appeared in a very small clearing, the lake not in sight. As they arrived, Harry stepped forward.

"There's a group, in a clearing to the west," he explained in a whisper. "There's a fair few of them. We didn't make out Evrard, but we might have missed him."

Ben nodded, and as the last remaining group arrived, gestured to Harry to lead the way.

Hermione's nerves started to build as they made their way west. With such a large group, they had to move slowly and employ the use of silencing charms to ensure they didn't give themselves away.

She clenched her hands and followed closely behind Ben, watching her step as they weaved through the forest. Even though everyone else seemed fine and nothing thus far had gone badly, she simply couldn't shake the feeling that something was _wrong_.

Harry led the group through the trees, and eventually began to slow them down. Through the quiet rustling of the forest, she began to make out the sound of soft voices in the distance. Harry quickly banished his light on his wand, and gestured for them to keep following the voices.

The trees thinned as the voices grew louder, and Hermione's feeling of dread increased. Approaching a large bush, Harry ducked and began to watch the group in the clearing.

Hermione leaned against Ben's back, taking advantage of the space above his shoulder. She had a clear view through the leaves of the large bush in front of them into the clearing, and was able to make out _at least_ fifteen, maybe twenty figures. They weren't cloaked, and stood around in a loose circle. Furthest away from them, she could clearly make out a man. She had passed enough of the wanted signs in the last few months to recognise him immediately - _Lewis Carrigan._ Scanning the area, Hermione frowned as she realised that Evrard didn't appear to be present.

_What was Athena playing at? She had specifically been asked for information regarding_ Evrard.

As they spoke, it became very clear that these were _Carrigan's_ men. They almost seemed... to be having a _social_ gathering. Hermione made out them mentioning someone's birthday, how someone who's name she didn't recognise had too much to drink and hooked up with somebody else's girlfriend.

She frowned as she watched them. How strange, that they would be meeting in the pitch black of a _forest_ just to gossip.

But then, after about ten minutes, a group of five more joined them, three men, two women. Upon their arrival, the rest of the group quietened down and all stood a little bit straighter.

Then, the meeting began.

The discussion was mainly between Carrigan and the taller of the two women. They seemed to be compromising about something the woman had agreed to do for Carrigan. They didn't mention _what_ it was, but whatever he wanted from her sounded like it was going to cost him a _very_ hefty sum of galleons.

"-you know what you ask of me. The risk is far too high. Without the extra two-hundred, it simply won't be enough to support us should something go wrong," the woman was saying.

Carrigan was pacing as he spoke, "I'll need time. That sort of money doesn't just _come along_."

"Not even for a _Black?_ " the woman questioned mockingly.

Silence followed, and Hermione could feel the growing tension between them.

" _No_ ," Carrigan responded firmly after a moment.

"We won't do it until we get the money," the woman continued. "And that's final."

"Will my word that you will be supported not suffice? Do you really have so little faith -"

" _Yes._ We will not go against him, not with so little in return. Not when you've hardly proven yourself."

From her left, Harry shifted and gestured to her and Ben. "We should head in now," he whispered. "Eye witness of an illegal trade is more than enough to bring them all in."

"We need more," Ben whispered quickly.

"We're not going to _get_ more. They're wrapping this up, now is our best chance," Harry insisted.

After a moment, Ben grudgingly nodded.

Harry immediately begun whispering orders to the different groups while Ben turned back to Hermione.

"Let him take charge," he murmured. "It is his case after all."

She nodded, not having any doubt that Harry could handle it.

"Don't worry," he continued, seeing how tense she was. He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, and she felt the tiniest bit better. _He and Harry are excellent duellers,_ she reminded herself. _They'll be fine. You'll be fine._

"Alright?" Harry asked the whole group one last time. They all slightly nodded. "Let’s go."

And they were off.

As they entered the clearing, Harry began the customary spill, declaring them all under arrest. Though, he barely managed to get a word out before Carrigan's men _charged._

The Aurors split up into three groups; one went left, one went right, and the other, hers, went straight down the middle. The groups broke off one by one as they quickly began the combat, though a fair amount from both sides fell to stray curses before the fight had truly begun.

Hermione moved off to the right and engaged in a duel with one of who she suspected was a follower of Carrigan. She quickly deduced that he wasn't very _good_ , as she easily blocked one of his weak incoming stunners. With a few good blocks, a quick disarming spell followed by an _incarcerous,_ he was out. She almost found herself feeling disappointed by the lack of a challenge he posed.

As she moved through the fray to take on another opponent, she spotted Harry duelling one on one with the taller woman who had been speaking to Carrigan. Across the other side of the clearing she then spotted Carrigan himself, who had been taken on by Ben. She would have stopped to watch the duel if there hadn't been a few Aurors duelling two opponents.

She jumped into a duel by Finch's side, and targeted one of his two opponents. This one, a short woman like herself, was quite an improvement over her last challenge. She was firing off far more dangerous curses than the other man, many of which collided with the trees behind her, letting out resonating bangs through the forest. It didn't take long to size her up, and for Hermione to realise she needed to give her all into the duel. The woman went all out on her offence, firing curses off rapidly. She left her with no time to retaliate, and Hermione was left to rely mainly on her defensive magic.

She gasped as she blocked three consecutive curses, the last of which very nearly broke through her shield. She brushed off a drop of sweat from her forehead and changed her tactics, this time opting to block the individual incoming curses. After a minute of relentlessly blocking curse after curse, Hermione managed to get in a quick _oppugno._

Small birds from the forest flew toward the short woman at high speeds, aiming directly for the woman's face. She managed to fight off the first few, but the sheer number of charging birds overcame her defence.

And at last, she had her opening. As the woman tried to keep the birds away from her eyes, Hermione took her opportunity, and managed to hit her square in the chest with her stunning spell.

She breathed deeply as she finished, and checked back to see that Harry was still managing alright, before checking on Ben's duel.

And that was when she saw it. Had she looked a fraction of a moment later, she would have missed it. There, through the fray, Ben shot a quick disarming spell towards Carrigan. It was too quick; Carrigan didn't have a chance to block it, his wand shooting out of his grasp. As the wand made its way through the air, Ben's expression flashed with a rage that she'd never seen on him before. It only lasted a second, but _she_ _saw it._ As Carrigan's wand approached Ben, his own wand moved again rapidly. If she hadn't seen it happen, she wouldn't have believed that the following flash of green light had originated from Ben's wand. But there it was. The curse hit the disarmed Carrigan square in the chest, the life fading from his eyes before he'd had the chance to see it coming.

And just like that, Carrigan fell. Hermione couldn't control the shock that plastered itself into her expression. She couldn't comprehend what she had seen.

_What had happened?_

Carrigan had fallen, but _why did it happen_? He had been disarmed, it was unnecessary. Their job was to serve justice by incapacitating him, not by _killing_ him. _What had happened_?

The fighting around her continued, no one yet realising that their leader had fallen. The other Aurors didn't even seem to realise she had stopped duelling.

But Hermione simply couldn't drag her eyes off of Ben. As he watched Carrigan fall, his eyes had lit up. The echo of his quick smile lingered on his face as his eyes met hers.

Her breath caught in her throat.

_He had seen her._

_She knew what he had done._

_And he knew it._

 

*

 

Once all of the fighters were safely either stunned, tied up, or both, the Aurors congregated before being allocated Port Keys for the return to the Ministry. As they finished up checking on everyone, ensuring no one was critically wounded, Hermione could _feel_ Ben staring in her direction.

Hermione tried her hardest to stay close to Harry, to catch his eye, to silently tell him that _something was wrong,_ that it hadn't been a stray curse like they had assumed. But it was proving difficult; he was still actively avoiding her, and they had been assigned to different groups for taking their Port Keys back.

She was sure it wasn't a coincidence.

She watched as Harry's group circled around their Port Key and soon disappeared. She bit her lip in a bid to keep herself calm. _She needed to see Harry. He was the only one she could go to._

She could apparate here and now... _but she needed to see Harry, and Harry was at the Ministry._

She grudgingly grasped the Port Key with her group and waited, accepting that she had no other choice but to go back. Moments before the Port Key took hold, the Auror next to her moved aside, and Ben took his place. He looked down to her without expression and gently moved his other hand to the small of her back.

She felt sick.

The Port Key took hold then, and Hermione found herself hoping that on the way, he would get _thrown off._

As they reappeared at the Apparition point, Hermione took no time to hurry out of there before she could be stopped. _To hell with escorting the apprehended like she had been instructed, to hell with collecting statements._

Making it out into the Atrium, she pushed her way through to the elevators, without care for who she shoved out of her way. _She needed to get to Harry._

As she made it to the elevator, she mashed the door close button, and let out a sigh once the doors had safely closed and they had started to move. On the way to the second floor, the lift stopped _three times_ , and it took all of her self-restraint to keep her cool and not scream at the other workers. Once she had _finally_ made it, she bolted to Harry's office.

_Please be there, please be there, please be -_

He wasn't.

_Fuck._

She turned back around and almost ran straight into Ben's chest.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck._

"You're off in a hurry," he commented, slightly out of breath.

_He had followed her._

Her mouth opened slightly before she spoke. "I have to see my parents," she lied as convincingly as she could muster, trying to ignore her heart racing in her chest.

"With Harry?" He asked, his eyes glancing into the empty office behind her. "Since when?"

"It's my dad, his health hasn't been the best lately," she said quickly. "Harry and my father have been friends for years. I thought he'd want to know."

She took a step forward, making to go around him out into the foyer. He stepped in front of her.

"You haven't mentioned anything about your father," he said smoothly.

"I didn't think it was a big deal at first. But you know how health can be..." she trailed off, moving to step around him again.

He reached out and grabbed her arm, stopping her from leaving.

"Hermione -"

"I really have to go," she said, pulling her arm back. "But I'll see you soon, alright. I love you," she reached up on the tips of her toes and pressed a light kiss to his cheek. She stepped back and dashed out of the office before he had a chance to stop her again. As she sped back out through the foyer, she prayed that he wouldn't see through her act, that he would just _let her leave._

 

*

 

Still standing in Harry's office doorway where she had left him, Ben's jaw twitched. He watched her bushy hair retreat through the foyer, where it disappeared around the corner.

He stared for a moment, watching the space where her hair had been. He clenched his jaw thoughtfully.

_She was good._

Making a split-second decision, he sped out of the office after her.

 

*

 

Hermione stopped for no one, pushing through the crowds of the Ministry as swiftly as she physically could. She weighed up her options - she could head for the apparition point, which would be both crowded and also where he would _expect_ her to go, or she could be extra cautious and exit through the visitor's entrance.

Deciding at the last moment, Hermione pulled a right turn toward the large visitor's doors as opposed to her usual left. She raced to the doors in a jog, and pushed through out into the cold air.

She felt it the moment she crossed the wards of the Ministry, and quickly stopped running so that she could turn on the spot. But as she twisted and began to turn, a strong grip took hold of her arm, hitchhiking on her apparition.

With a quick pop, Hermione materialised in her own living room. As soon as she adjusted to her new surroundings, she put all of her strength into throwing off the hitchhiker. She stumbled backwards as she was let go, the hitchhiker not bothering to stop her. She directed her wand immediately as she straightened.

"Get back," she ordered firmly.

Ben raised his hands innocently, with his wand still in his right hand. "Put the wand down, Hermione," he instructed gently.

" _Get. Back_."

"Just take it easy, love, we can talk-"

" _No. Give me your wand_ ," she commanded, her voice threatening to break.

"Hermione, darling -"

" _You killed him_ ," she stated, not bothering to pretend anymore.

"I didn't have a choice," he stated, without hesitation, his voice still gentle.

"He was disarmed."

Ben raised his chin slightly. "He was dangerous."

"Not without a wand, he wasn't."

"We don't know what he might have done, had he escaped again," Ben reasoned.

"It was _unnecessary_ ," Hermione continued, griping her wand tighter.

"Put the wand _down_ , Hermione."

"It's our job to _detain_!" Her wand arm was shaking.

"You're angry, you're not thinking clearly," Ben tried.

"I'm thinking clearer than I have in months."

" _Please,_ " Ben took a small step forward. That one step was all of the prompting she needed.

" _Incarcerous!_ "

Her ropes flew toward him, though he was prepared. He ducked underneath the spell and charged forward quickly, closing the distance between them. His free hand closed around her wrist of her wand hand and attempted to wrestle it out. She stomped on his foot as hard as she could, Ben yelping in response. She pulled her wand arm out of his grip, though before she cast to free her other arm, she felt herself being pulled back into the pressure of apparition, but this time _she_ was hitchhiking.

She fell backwards as she took in her new surroundings. She was in a paddock, empty of all but grass. Muggle buildings surrounded, though they were miles in the distance. In the dusk, they would never be seen.

She stumbled backwards, attempting to get as far from him as she could. He stood still, watching her with a blank expression. She kept moving, her gut telling her to _run_. After a few attempts, she made it to her feet and proceeded to run. She had only made it a few steps when she was hit with a spell. In hindsight, she should have faced him and defended herself.

_But every fibre in her being told her to run._

As she was hit, she immediately knew what it was, she didn't need to hear the incantation. She fell, flat on her face, before her body crumpled involuntarily. She screamed, louder than she had screamed in years. She'd been under the Cruciatus curse before, under Bellatrix's wand. But not like this, this was far worse than anything she remembered. All of her bones felt as though they were being broken, only to be healed and broken again. Her eyes were twisting in their sockets, the feeling of her skin being shredded was all she could focus on.

As the curse was lifted, her body began twitching uncontrollably. She gasped for air as she tried to lift her upper body out of the grass, her muscles giving way.

She glanced back towards Ben, seeing him slowly make his way over to her. His expression was no longer unreadable; he was _angry_. The scowl that adorned his face made him almost unrecognisable. In that moment, she knew. She knew exactly what he was.

_Run. Get away. Flee_ , her mind urged her.

She tried to push herself up again, ignoring the pain to the best of her ability as she made it to her feet. She didn't have it in her to apparate, she'd surely be splinched, but as she started to limp away from him, she managed to cast a slicing hex. She didn't know whether she'd hit her target or not, and she didn't look back to find out.

Each step was agony, though she pushed her way through it, slowly speeding up. Though it was not enough. A moment later, a weight pushed her to the ground. Ben had obviously also sped up and had opted for the muggle way of tackling her.

She groaned and tried to push him off, though she was unsuccessful. He had her pinned underneath him, face down on the grass. He tore her wand from of her hand, her sore muscles unable to stop him. He let up some of the pressure and turned her over, still straddling her.

_Although this was nothing like the last time he straddled her._

She let out a yelp, feeling his hands move to her neck. She tried to push him off as best as she could, though his grip was too tight. His eyes were wide, manic, as he strangled her. From the blood that was dripping down his cheek, she knew she had hit her mark with her slicing hex - though it was of little consolation now.

Moments before she blacked out she heard,

" _How I have waited for this._ "

 

*

 

Hermione woke from her dreamless slumber with a jolt. It took her a few moments to recall everything that had happened, and even longer to realise that she had no idea where she was. She slowly pushed herself up from where she lay, on a dingy bed in a dark room. There were no windows, prompting her to think that she was in a basement somewhere. The room was cluttered, Daily Prophets towered on a desk in the other corner. There were piles of books, jars, and boxes, clearly the room had been used for storage.

She pulled her sore legs over the side of the bed, and slowly stood up, hoping that her legs wouldn't give way. She flexed her muscles and looked over her clothing, looking for any damage. Much to her relief, she felt relatively unharmed other than the sore muscles. She was still fully clothed, though her wand was missing.

_Where was she? Why had she been taken here?_

She slowly began to pace the room in a bid to keep calm, thinking over what she _knew._

_Ben had killed Carrigan. He had followed her from the Ministry and taken her here, wherever here was. He had_ tortured _her._

She bent over, leaning her hands on her knees and took long, deep breaths.

_She had to stay calm._

Her breathing sped up, and her head began to spin.

_She had to stay calm._

_She had to clear her mind, and make a logical plan. She could panic later. First thing, was getting out of here._

She slowly stood up straight and approached the old desk in the corner, hoping to find something, _anything_ , that would help her determine where she was. She flicked through the many copies of the Daily Prophet. They were all in chronological order, the previous day's edition on the top of the pile. There must have been hundreds of them. _Years’ worth._ She sifted through the drawers of the desk, searching for anything that may have been of use.

Giving up on the desk, she moved around to the large bookcase, but was disappointed by its selection. All books of very basic magic, things she would have learned in school. Looking to her left, was a large bench with a selection of various cauldrons. Clearly this space had been used for potion brewing.

"Hello, love," Ben's familiar voice sounded from behind her, making Hermione flinch. She hadn't even heard him enter.

She looked over and found him by the door, which he was in the process of closing behind him. He had showered since she last saw him, his dark hair still wet on top. Much to her irritation, the cut from her slicing hex had disappeared, making him yet again look flawless. On the outside, at least.

"Where am I?" Hermione asked, her voice quiet and emotionless.

_Keep calm, keep calm._

"My home."

"I didn't know you had a basement."

He didn't reply to that, he simply made his way over to the small bed and sat down. "Sit with me," he instructed gently.

She bit the inside of her cheek and stubbornly folded her arms over her chest, remaining leaning on the old bookcase.

He tilted his head to the side and looked at her questioningly.

"Where is my wand?" Hermione asked as the silence grew awkward.

He reached into his back pocket and pulled out her familiar wand. He twirled it tauntingly in his hand and looked at it thoughtfully.

Hermione's nostrils flared in irritation.

"If you sit with me, I might think about giving it back," he said with a smirk, moving his eyes from her wand to meet hers.

Hermione clenched her jaw before taking two steps forward. _That's all she would give._

He smiled as he tucked the wand back in his pocket.

"Why am I here?" she asked after a moment, realising that he wasn't going to start talking.

"I just want to talk."

"So, talk."

He exhaled through his nose.

"I wanted to apologise for my actions yesterday," he said. "My temper can get away from me."

Keeping her arms firmly folded, Hermione looked away and sniffed. Ben sighed, and moved from the bed, making his way toward her. She stayed put, refusing to show any more weakness. He stopped in front of her, about an arm’s length away.

"It wasn't meant to go like this," he said, surprisingly quietly.

Hermione narrowed her eyes and snorted. "No, I don't suppose it was."

"I need you to work with me, Hermione. Stubbornness will not serve you well," he said, a tone of irritation in his voice which she had only heard rarely before.

"Work with you? _Work with you?_ " Hermione repeated in a tone of disbelief. "Why on _earth_ would I do that?

"Because you're in love with me," he said as if it were a simple fact, holding her eye contact. "That, and you won't be leaving here unless you do."

Hermione swallowed and thought on what Kingsley had told her, that Aurors were watching him 24/7. Did they know someone else was here? How long would she have to be missing before they looked for her? Could they have _seen_ her be brought in?

"I need to know that you can be trusted. I need to be one _hundred_ percent sure that you won't talk," Ben continued.

If only she had her wand. She could try to stop him here and now, _if only she had her wand._

"I don't want to have to force you," he finished.

"Why not? Why me? Why are you doing this?"

"Don't you understand?" he asked, with furrowed eyebrows, seeming almost genuinely confused. He closed the distance and moved his hands to her cheeks, holding her still. He bent down so that his face was only inches from hers while she flinched and tried to pull away, though his grip was too strong. "It's you. _It was always you._ "

She whimpered, her attempts to move away futile. His gaze was intense, _too intense._ His eyes seemed to bore into her soul, she was unable to look away.

"I spent years, _years_ , running over everything; every decision, every move, every time I was thwarted. And it all brought me back to _you_ ," his voice was a whisper, a coarse whisper.

His words hit her harder than seeing him murder Carrigan. They hit harder than his Cruciatus. This was a _confirmation. He was admitting it._

"All of those years, the boy was _nothing._ I was too blind to see it, too hell bent on that _prophecy_ , to see, that _it was always you_ ," he finished, his grip loosening as a reluctant tear fell from her eye.

"But don't you see?" He moved closer, dropping one of his hands and moving so their bodies were touching and his mouth was at her ear. "We could be _great_ together. We _have_ been great together. We could have _everything_ , if you would just let me give it to you."

Hermione trembled in his embrace. She felt sick, she couldn't _think_. He was Voldemort, Ben was Voldemort, Harry had been right all along. _She_ hadn't listened, _Kingsley_ hadn't listened, _no one had listened._

She _loved_ him, she had left _Ron_ for him, for _Voldemort._

Bile rose in her throat.

How hadn't she known? He was right there all along, Harry had told her time and time again, but she hadn't believed it, hadn't _wanted_ to believe it. Even after he killed Carrigan, she hadn't wanted to believe it. _But here it was._

She thought back on her dreams, on her gut feelings, on what Harry, Ginny and Ron had told her time and time again. She had ignored it all. _Why had she ignored it all?_

Harry had been right - he _had_ blinded her.

She trembled all over, unable to stop it. His free hand gripped her arm in an attempt to still her. He moved back, keeping his other hand on her cheek. She looked down into his chest - she wouldn't, _couldn't_ look at his face.

"Hermione?"

She couldn't be this weak. Not in front of _him_ , not now. She met his dark eyes with her bloodshot ones, and pushed him back as hard as she could. She didn't move him far, only a step or two backwards, but at least he was no longer touching her.

" _How could you?!_ " she demanded. " _You made me_ love _you!_ "

"I can be him if you want me to," he said, taking a small step forward again. "All you have to do is say the word. I won't harm you, you won't have to be involved in my business. All I need, is a vow of your loyalty."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then Florian will be paying a visit to 194 Elford Street. You don't want that, do you?"

Hermione froze at his words. She had been so careful with her parents. Although she had restored their memories, she had moved them to the opposite side of the country. She had changed their names _again_ in the hope that she would never be put in this type of situation again. She hardly got to see them anymore all in the hopes that this would never, _could_ never, happen again.

"Y-you wouldn't," she stated.

He smiled sadly. "Oh, trust me, I would," he said and moved closer again, returning his hand to her cheek. "But you have a _choice._ All you need to do, is make a simple, little vow. And they will be safe."

Hermione couldn't process, couldn't think.

"I'll leave you to mull it over," he said as if he knew her thoughts. After a moment, he gently brought his other hand to the other side of her face. He moved closer and pressed a kiss to her forehead before letting her go and exiting the basement the way he came in.

Her forehead felt like it was on _fire._

 

*

 

After some violent vomiting and what felt like a full day in that dingy basement, Hermione was still hung up. There was one question that she couldn't understand his answer to.

_Why me?_

It didn’t make any sense. ' _It was always you_ ', he had said. Though she hated to admit, she knew that he was right - she was a large reason why Harry had been triumphant over Voldemort in the past. But it still didn't make _any_ sense.

Voldemort had never wanted _people_ like this before. He'd collected objects, sure, but whenever a _person_ came along, he had always been more than willing to use the Imperius curse, to force them, to torture them. So, why not with her? Why would he have gone to the lengths of _loving_ her?

_It made no sense._

She pondered and pondered, and found herself getting caught on an array of more questions. _Why would he want to work in the Ministry? Why would he go to the effort of creating a new identity? How was he young again?_

But then she remembered what Harry had said.

_This is not his normal._

Yes, this was definitely not his normal. Something must have happened, something must have _changed._ But what?

"Have you considered my offer?"

Hermione flinched at the sound of his voice, having not heard him enter again, but did not respond. She heard his shoes on the hard floor as he stepped down from the stairs and slowly approached her, stopping once he was a few steps away.

"No?"

"Why are you doing this?" She asked for the second time, her words barely coming out as a whisper.

She heard his intake of breath before he stepped closer, crouching down in front of her. He lifted her head up with both of his hands and made eye contact, his expression softening.

"I need you," he said surprisingly gently.

She frowned, trying to find a different answer in his eyes. "No, you don't. You don't need _anyone_."

He smiled at her words, flashing his teeth. It threw her off - after his confession, after his _torture_ , she had expected him to _be_ Voldemort, to act like him, to _look_ like him. She hadn't thought it would be possible for his hands to still feel so soft, so gentle. On the outside... he didn't seem any different to the man she had grown to love.

"Ever the intelligent one," he said, caressing her jawline.

"After what happened seven years ago," he started softly, "do you think anyone would follow me now? I lost the majority of my followers, my cause is a dying breed, Potter is the golden child who can do no wrong. Those who are left, they are loyal, yes. But their numbers are too few. The pureblooded will never rule, not now. I know this, I accept this."

"But that still doesn't -"

He interrupted her words as he stroked her lip with a thumb.

"However, not only Britain, but the entire wizarding world loves... _you._ You are the brightest witch of your age, the brains behind Harry Potter's success, the golden _girl._ The world may not follow me anymore, no... but it will follow _you,_ if you wish it.

"And if the wizarding world sees that you, _Hermione Granger_ , is willing to not only forgive me, but also _love_ me..." he trailed off, allowing her to process his words as he ran his fingertips across the top of her neck.

Hermione struggled to comprehend what he was saying. Her stomach turned as another wave of nausea passed through her.

"I won't," she said stubbornly. "I don't want it. I don't want anything to _do_ with you _,_ " she pulled out of his grasp firmly, pushing him back as hard as she could muster.

He rose to his feet, and spoke, his voice becoming venomous, "If you care at all for your parents and your friends, you will see it my way."

 

*

 

Hermione didn't know how long she had been in the basement. She had attempted to keep track by the number of her meals which appeared on the upmost step near the door. Assuming they had been coming once a day, she had been there for a week.

Kingsley would know of her absence by now. _Harry_ would surely also know. Perhaps even Ron had heard. Surely someone was looking for her, _surely._ Even with Harry still put out with her, he wouldn't just accept her absence. Surely someone _must_ have seen him chase her out of the Ministry. _Surely._

_Harry would come for her. Of that, she was sure._

But it was not in her nature to sit and wait. In her free time, she had been practicing her wandless magic with the stacks of Daily Prophets. It was never her strong point, but over the week, she had definitely improved, though not by much. With only one measly meal a day, she didn't have the energy she needed to break out.

But she _did_ manage to multiply her food.

So, on her eighth day of captivity, after eating until she couldn't eat anymore the day before, Hermione felt ready to finally make a break for freedom.

Although she didn't know what time it was, she decided to try her luck once she woke up. Assuming her body clock was still remotely functional, it would be late morning, and Voldemort would be expected to keep up appearances and be at the Ministry.

After quietly padding up the stairs, she took a moment to calm herself before trying the door handle. It was locked, although she had expected as much. She moved back slightly, and took a deep breath to calm her thoughts. Putting all of her focus onto unlocking the door, Hermione spoke quietly, " _Alohomora_."

She frowned as she didn't hear anything from the door. Cautiously, she took a breath and reached for the handle. With a hopeful twist, _the door clicked._

_It was unlocked._

She almost danced. As quietly as she could muster, she pulled the door to freedom open and made her way into the corridor.

"Going somewhere?"

With Auror reflexes, she raised her hand and directed it at Ben - _Voldemort_ \- who stood waiting between her and one end of the corridor. He stood with his head quirked to the side questioningly, contemplating her.

Hermione quickly hurled a wandless stunning spell his way, and bolted in the opposite direction without looking back. She followed the corridor around an end where it opened out into the living room. She made her way through the familiar house, and into the dining room. As she weaved her way around the long table and chairs, she heard him call out from behind her.

"It doesn't have to be like this, darling," his voice was smooth, amused. "As much as I would love to chase you, we can sort this out like adults."

She didn't turn back to see where he was as she dashed through into the entry way of the house. She threw herself against the door, unsurprised to find it locked. She quickly tried to unlock it like the basement door before attempting to blast it down but to no avail - unlike the basement, it was warded. It made her think - perhaps he had been _waiting_ for her to escape the basement.

Like a true muggle, she bashed on the door with her fists, hoping someone from the Ministry was watching the house closely.

" _Help! Please!_ " She screeched.

Upon hearing a deep chuckle from the doorway, she gave up on the door and opted for the stairs. She made it up to about the fifth stair before one of the rails moved and grabbed her by the ankle. Feeling her foot fall from under her, Hermione landed on the stairs with a painful thud.

Another laugh came from behind her as she pushed herself up and attempted to free her ankle. The rail was unrelenting - the more she pulled, the tighter it wrapped.

"For such an intelligent woman, you can be quite daft," Voldemort stated from the foot of the stairs. He leaned lazily against the bottom rail with amusement in his eyes. "It will let you go once you stop fidgeting. Now, have you thought any further on my offer? You seem quite eager to leave, and I'll be happy to oblige you as soon as you agree."

Hermione ignored him and relaxed as he instructed. The rail slowly loosened, and she was able to finally pull free. She pushed up off the stairs and tried to make it further up.

"No?" He sighed and climbed the stairs after her.

She forced her sore muscles to take her to the top landing, but he was too quick for her, and pushed her rather forcefully against the wall. The back of her head collided with the wall with a painful _thud._

"Alright, how about this - because I've grown so fond of you, I'll sweeten the deal," he said smoothly in her ear. There was a time when his voice would have had sent shivers of pleasure through her - this time it repulsed her.

"Take the vow, and I will vow in turn to leave your blood-traitor ex-husband and his family unharmed," he continued. "Refuse... and I will ensure Ronald will be the first to go after dear Mommy."

Hermione let out an involuntary sob as she continued to squirm in his grip.

"Come now, love. I've given you a week. I've been more than fair with you. Just agree, and everything can go back to normal," he said as one of his hands moved up and caressed her cheek while the other tightened around her wrist. "I'd hate to force you, but I will if I have to."

She squeezed her eyes shut.

What choice did she have? Her family was on the line. _Ron_ was on the line. Harry, Ginny, George, Bill, Fleur, _everyone._ It would be better for everyone if she wasn't under the Imperius curse... and Harry had already figured it out - perhaps she could still talk to him even if she agreed to his vow...

With a small breath, Hermione's eyes met his dark ones. "Fine," she whispered. "Fine, I agree."

His warm smile was eerie. "That's my girl."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was BY FAR my favourite chapter to write 


	14. An Uncomfortable Arrangement

Lord Voldemort sat happily at his desk, enjoying the comfort of his large chair. He toyed with a quill between his fingers and smiled contentedly.

Things were going well. Very well, in fact. Even with the small hiccup of Granger coming to her senses, things were still panning out rather smoothly. Although he hadn't planned on her finding out the truth quite so soon, he figured that things may even work out _better_ this way. He would no longer need to hold back with her. Of course, it would take some time for her to gain her trust in him again, but he had learned to be patient when the need arose.

_And if there was one thing he was sure of, it's that she would, indeed, come around._

Carrigan was _finally_ permanently out of his way; he had gained the trust of all of his co-workers, even Kingsley; Rosier and the Malfoys would be returning into his service soon; _and_ Potter was almost right where he wanted him.

His smile grew. Yes, all was well indeed.

*

Harry sent Ron a stern look, signalling for him to draw his wand. With a final nod, he shoved Hermione's office door open and stormed in, wand directed to the Department Head.

He slowly looked up from his book. Upon seeing their wands raised, Ben's left eyebrow quirked.

"Mr. Potter, Weasley. To what do I owe the pleasure?" He drawled as if they would be having a pleasant meeting.

"What have you done with her?" Demanded Harry.

"Excuse me?"

" _Hermione!_ Where is she?!" Ron answered, determination in his voice.

"You'll find that Ms. Granger is out on personal leave," he said smoothly. "Like I said last week."

"Bollocks," Harry spat.

"She wouldn't up and leave without telling us! _Where is she?!_ " Ron pressed.

"She had a pressing family issue to deal with," Ben insisted, "Now if you don't mind, it would be appreciated if you could lower your wands."

"What have you done with her?" Demanded Harry.

"Not a thing," he said once again. He reached across his desk and pulled out a small envelope, and offered it to Harry. "It seems her owl must have been delayed. This came last night."

Harry eyed the envelope suspiciously before slowly stepping forward and snatching it out of Ben's hand. He quickly unfolded the parchment, his eyes darting back and forth over it. After reading it, he looked back up and glared at Ben.

"This doesn't mean anything. How are we to know that you didn't force her to write it?"

"And just _what_ are you accusing me of?" Ben rose to a stand.

"You know very well what we're accusing you of, you great git!" Ron shot.

Ben's nostrils flared.

"I've been very patient with you, Mr. Potter. But this - barging in here, threatening me with your wands, accusing me of... just _what_ exactly? Being a dark wizard, hurting my _girlfriend? Perhaps you need to be reminded of just who it is that you work for_ ," he said threateningly, before moving his attention to the left. "And you, _Weasley,_ perhaps it is time for you to stop deluding yourself and accept the fact that Hermione left you of her own free will."

As he finished, he stepped around his desk to face the two men.

"I won't ask you again," Harry continued as Ron visibly recoiled. " _Where is she?_ "

Ben held his stare, daring him to cast.

"Harry? _Ron?!_ What in _Merlin's_ name are you doing? _Put your wands down!_ "

All three heads turned to the bushy-haired witch standing in the doorway.

" _Hermione?"_

"Where the _bloody hell_ have you _been?_ "

Harry and Ron immediately began questioning simultaneously, while Ben shot a smirk toward Hermione, which went unseen by the other men.

"I've been with my parents! My father has been ill," she insisted uncomfortably.

"Why didn't you say anything? ...Is John alright?" Ron asked, his voice softening.

"I don't have to tell you everything!" She said, her tone overly defensive. "Besides, it came on suddenly, I didn't have the time."

"We - we were _worried_ , we thought something had happened to you -"

"Well I appreciate the thought, but I'm perfectly fine," she said quickly, trying to ignore the warm swell of appreciation for her friends that passed through her. "Don't you have an office to run, Harry? And Ron, shouldn't you be at the shop? We can catch up later."

"Y - _yeah_ , but, 'Mione -" Ron started nervously.

"Can we talk? Y'know, _alone?_ " Harry asked, with a sideways glance to Ben, who stood watching them with his arms folded over his chest.

"I've got too much to catch up on, alright? Can we - can we do this later? Please? Possibly over the weekend?" She tried again.

"I - I mean, I _suppose_ , if you insist..." Harry said, looking over to Ron.

They uttered their apologies to Hermione (and _only_ Hermione), and grudgingly left the office with a strong promise to catch up later.

As they left, Hermione let out a sigh of relief. She moved through the office, walking past Voldemort without looking towards him; she wasn't sure if she were even able to yet. She sat at her desk and opened her diary, planning on at least looking over some of the work she had missed over the last week.

She saw him move in her peripheral vision, over towards the door. As he closed it, she stiffened; there was nothing she wanted less than to be alone with him again, especially so soon.

She kept her eyes firmly focused on her diary as he slowly stepped over to where she sat.

"That was good timing," he commented.

She hummed in response, not looking up as she began sifting through the parchment on her desk.

"He's been coming in every day, you know," he began. "Potter, that is. Downright _annoying._ That's the second time for Weasley, though. I was curious as to how long it would take before they started threatening me," he said with a laugh.

She glanced up and shot a glare in his direction.

"Oh yes, very funny," she said icily.

He laughed louder.

"If only you'd come in five minutes later. Had he hexed me, I might have been able to get him _fired_ ," he teased.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. _He's taunting you. He_ wants _you to snap. Don't give in, don't give in, don't give in._

"I was also meant to let you know, that Kingsley wants to see you. 'As soon as you get back', I was told," he continued.

She rolled her eyes and stood, happy for any reason to put some distance between them. She started in the direction of the door, but he stopped her midway, taking her arm in a strong grip.

"I hope it goes without saying, but _watch your tongue_ , alright?" He said, looking down at her intently, his tone becoming sharp.

She forcefully pulled her arm out of his grip and stormed out of the office without a word.

On the way to Kingsley's office, she focused on each individual breath to keep herself calm. Annoyingly, he was right. She couldn't let it seem like anything was wrong, she couldn't let _anything_ slip. She had vowed not to tell anyone anything, directly or indirectly. She wasn't sure whether there were any loopholes to get out of the vow, and frankly, she wasn't feeling lucky enough at the present moment to try.

_She couldn't help anyone if she was dead._

So, she plastered on her poker face and tried not to think about the past week.

Needless to say, Kingsley wasn't happy.

"You can’t just _up and disappear!_ Do you have any idea how worried we were?! Harry and Ron almost broke down my door!"

"I'm _sorry -_ "

"How could you _possibly think_ that a _letter,_ sent after you'd be missing for a week could suffice?"

"I didn't mean -"

"Do you have _any idea_ how hard I've worked to keep you in this position? Almost every other Department Head has requested that you be removed! I've put my neck out for you _time and time_ again!"

She bit her tongue until she tasted blood.

"We couldn't even check with your family! The names and addresses on record are all falsified! _That_ in itself is enough to have you suspended!"

"I was just _protecting_ them," she said stiffly.

"We know that, but it simply is _not_ how things are done! Do you know how hard it was to stop Harry from storming Ben's house? The _whole_ operation was nearly blown!

"I'm _sorry!_ I didn't mean to cause such a mess, okay? It was an emergency, and it's my _dad,_ I couldn't just not go! I have more than enough leave saved up to cover it, these things happen! Emergencies happen!"

Kingsley held the bridge of his nose.

"You're alright though, aren't you?" He asked with a sudden change of tone.

"Of course I am!" She said sharply.

"It _was_ a family matter, right?"

"Yes!"

"You're not... covering for him, are you?"

"Don't be ridiculous!"

She felt a burn around her wrist as she considered confirming his suspicions. Really, perhaps she was better off telling him. Sure, she'd die, but then at least they'd know. Then, they could stop him.

 _But_ , she thought selfishly, _Harry had been accusing him for months, and Kingsley hadn't done anything except assigning a watch. If she accused him, they still might not do anything. They might not take her seriously, just like Harry. And then, she'd die for nothing._

_At least this way, she could help._

"Alright. Good."

"Is that all then?" She asked rather rudely, needing to get out of there.

He sighed again. "Yes."

She rose from her seat, intending on leaving without another word.

"Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"Look after yourself."

She nodded, and hurried out of the office, eyes burning.

Arriving back on the second floor, she beelined for the bathroom, and finally let out the tears she had been holding back all morning.

 

*

 

"How did it go?" Voldemort asked the instant she re-entered the office. She purposely left the door open.

She glared, her eyes still bloodshot. "Fine."

She continued over, and passed through the office without a look in his direction. She sat at her desk and pulled the large pile of reports from her in-tray in front of her.

_She was Hermione Granger. She could handle this. She had handled things this bad before... right?_

Her head snapped up as she heard the distinct sound of the office door closing once more. She looked over to see him approaching her desk again. Her muscles tensed.

"You'll come back with me tonight," he stated once he reached, as if he wouldn't be compromising.

He stomach turned.

"No," she said, not seeing another option. "I won't."

He held her eye contact and stepped closer.

"I wasn't asking," he stated.

She squeezed her pen. "I'm not your prisoner."

"No," he conceded. "But until I can trust you, I need you where I can keep an eye on you."

She looked at him incredulously. "Is an Unbreakable vow not enough for you?"

"If there is a way to get around a vow, then I expect that you are exactly the type who would be game enough to try it," he answered.

 _He wasn't wrong._ In fact, that was _precisely_ what she was planning on doing as soon as she had the chance.

She clenched her jaw. _There was nothing she wanted less than to go back into that house._ But she had been thinking - no matter what she _wanted,_ she had to do what was _smart._ And for now, that was playing his _twisted_ game. If she did as he said, if she gained his trust, perhaps she could find out what his overall plans were. Perhaps she could stop them. _Harry had always said he was one for storytelling._

 _Or,_ she thought wildly, _perhaps she could influence his plans._ She had absolutely no expectation that she could _change_ him, but at the very least, she might be able to help a few people.

 _Or at the very least, she could find an opportunity to kill him._ She wasn't sure if she had it in her to kill a man. But she figured, if she _did,_ the person she would kill would be Voldemort.

"Fine," she said in a small voice, again focusing on her work.

He lingered for a moment, as if her response had surprised him. Once he had retreated back to his desk, she squeezed her eyes shut.

_You can do this. You're Hermione Granger._

_You can do this._

 

*

 

"The spare bedroom is yours," he said unexpectedly. "You may use the library to your leisure, but stay out of the study," he instructed dismissively as he headed through to the kitchen, leaving her standing alone in the entrance way.

She watched the doorway he had left through, half expecting him to come back, to order her around, to tell her to do _something._

But he didn't.

So, she took the opportunity to head upstairs and lock herself in the guest bedroom. As she locked the door, she leaned back against it, closed her eyes, and let out a long breath, before looking around the room.

_At least if she was going to be a prisoner, she'd be a comfortable one._

The guest bedroom wasn't as nice as _his_ was, and didn't have a connecting ensuite. _Meaning that when she needed the bathroom, she'd have to leave and risk seeing him._

But the bed looked nice enough, and at least he was leaving her alone for now, she supposed. She moved to sit on the large, white bed, and sifted through her bag to take her books out. She couldn't risk bringing any _truly_ helpful books with her, in case he found them. But, the basic Dark Arts books she brought with her were a good start.

She immediately got to work. She didn't _really_ expect that she'd be able to get out of her Unbreakable vow, but she still hoped to find a _loophole._ All she needed, was the chance to confirm Harry or Ginny's suspicions.

 _Perhaps she could find something incriminating around the house? Then, she could leave it out for Harry to see._ That way, she wouldn't _technically_ be telling anyone anything.

_Or she could lure Harry over when something was happening. Perhaps he had meetings here? Maybe if she watched close enough, she could find out where he went in his free time? Then she could ensure that Harry 'accidentally' followed._

She read through her books and pondered her predicament for a few hours before her stomach grumbled. He hadn't said anything about food... but if she could use his library, then, surely that meant he'd feed her too?

Well, it wasn't as if she had another option.

Standing shakily, she hesitantly unlocked the door and poked her head out. It was silent. There was no one in sight.

As quietly as she could muster, she stepped out, closing the door behind her. She tip-toed downstairs and slowly headed toward the kitchen. She entered the dining room as quietly as she could manage, and found him seated at the table, in the middle of writing what looked like a very long letter. She looked over hesitantly, and quickly passed through into the kitchen. Although he didn't look up from his writing, she was sure he knew she was there.

She approached the pantry uncertainly. _Would he mind her helping herself?_ It's not like he offered to feed her, but she couldn't just _starve._

"Feel free," his voice echoed from the dining room, making her jump slightly.

She wasn't about to question him. She sifted through the pantry, and pulled out a jar of cookies.

She sniggered. She wouldn't have guessed that _Voldemort_ would be one for _cookies._

Unsure of where to go, and if he would mind her eating in the living room (she _definitely_ wasn't about to join him in the dining room), she awkwardly took a seat at one of the stools at the counter.

On her third cookie, she heard a soft snort from behind her.

"Nutritious," Voldemort commented as he circled the counter, and entered the pantry himself.

She glared.

"You're one to judge," she snapped, raising her chin. "They're _your_ cookies."

He laughed as he came back to the counter with a bottle of wine.

"Touché," he conjured a glass and offered it to her.

"No,” she said immediately, looking at it as if it would burn her. “Thank you."

"Suit yourself," he said, pouring one for himself.

She couldn't help but watch him as he swirled his glass and took a sniff. _What the hell?_ Cookies? _Wine?_ He was acting... _normal._ As if he weren't a raving, homicidal lunatic. _It made no sense._

She bit the inside of her lip as she stared.

_None of this made any sense._

"Go on then," he suddenly said as his eyes snapped to hers. "I can see you're just _bursting_ at the seams. What is it?"

"I - I just," she started unsurely, a bit thrown off by his sudden attention. He stepped around the counter toward her, and she took a breath. "I can't help but wonder... y'know, how you're... _this?_ " She gestured to his body.

"Would you really like to know?" He asked, taking up the stool next to her, his legs brushing lightly on hers.

She tried to shuffle over slightly, uncomfortable with his proximity. He reached over and lightly pushed back a loose strand of her hair, staring intently.

She closed her eyes and tried to ignore the feeling of his fingertips as she fought the urge to _run._

"After everything, I suppose I have Potter to thank," he started in a smooth voice. "Had he not informed me that it didn't _truly_ belong to me, well... who knows what I would have done?"

She was about to ask what the bloody hell he was talking about when he spoke again.

" _The Elder Wand_. Can you think of the one who would want it most desperately, save myself and Potter?"

She furrowed her eyebrows and met his dark eyes.

"No?" He prompted, and leaned in close enough for her to feel his breath. " _Death_."

Her eyes widened as he leaned back.

"That - that's not possible," she breathed. "That story is a legend, a work of fiction-"

"Tragic," he interrupted with a small laugh. "A witch who doesn't believe in magic."

She scowled.

"Do you have any idea of how hard it was to find the entity known simply as 'Death', Hermione?" He asked rhetorically as he leaned against the counter and took another sip of his wine. "Do you know how many I had to kill to draw him out?"

She couldn't _breathe._

" _Fifty-four_. He - she - _it_ drove a very hard bargain," he continued, his eyes not leaving hers. "In exchange for the wand, I was given one-hundred and fifty years, before he will come looking for me. I'll admit, I was disappointed - it wasn't what I had hoped for. But then, Death offered something else. 'Something dear to you shall be returned'."

It felt as though her blood had stilled. _One-hundred and fifty years_. Having seen the damage he'd done in his first seventy, Hermione couldn't bear to think of what he'd do with another _one-hundred and fifty_.

"I foolishly assumed he was referring to Nagini. She was, of course, the only one I'd ever have considered myself to care for. But upon agreeing, I was again, disappointed. He reached out, and gave me this -" he pointed to his chest to a small scar that she'd asked about once before, "- and then all was gone.

"I don't know how long I had been out for. It could have been days before I came to. But when I did, I found myself... bombarded. Sights, smells, colours, thoughts, that I'd forgotten myself capable of all came rushing in. Things, that I hadn't experienced since I was _sixteen_ years old. Tell me, Hermione, you're an intelligent woman. Have you figured out what I'm speaking of?"

She breathed in shallow breaths, fearing the answer to his question.

He laughed and reached out, caressing her cheek once more.

"He returned my soul."

She stared at him. She opened her mouth to speak, but then closed it.

She let out a humourless laugh. "You can't - you can't be _serious_ ," she said eventually.

"As a heart attack."

"That - _no_ \- _no way,_ that wouldn't explain -" she broke off as he continued to stare.

"I have no reason to lie to you," he said genuinely.

Her words were stuck in her throat.

"As you can imagine, it was a difficult transition. My youth was a side effect - a bonus of splitting my soul so young, I assumed. Once it was put back together, I resembled the version of myself which last had a complete soul.

"And with my youth, came new opportunities. I had the chance to start a new life. I was able to hide in plain sight once more. I was _attractive_ again, people were _drawn_ to me again," he added with a laugh. "You don't realise how much you take your appearance for granted until it's taken from you.

"I managed to get a job in Sweden. I met a lovely, senile woman, Patricia, who's memory I altered. She's entirely convinced that she's the mother of _Benjamin Jenkins._ I gave her a lifetime of memories, and she became my ticket back to the country.

"With someone to vouch for me, I was able to convince those who once knew me that I was a different person, with an unfortunate resemblance to _He Who Must Not Be Named_. It was perfect.

"It wasn't all good though. I had to start from scratch with the few remaining followers I had. But this time, I knew I needed a new approach. I figured, while I had a new life, with extra time, I would take things slowly, and take a position in the Ministry myself. I needed to be high up, but I wasn't sure how high I could manage at first. But then, fate once again smiled upon me and the Law Enforcement Department was overturned. I applied for my current position knowing you were going to be appointed as deputy, and that Potter was Head of the Auror office. That part wasn't a coincidence. _It was perfect._

"And... this... wasn't what I planned, you know," he said with a faint smile, gesturing between them. "Initially, I just wanted to convince you to join me. I wanted to isolate you, and gain your trust. Perhaps you'd soon think us friends, and I could offer you lessons. You'd see my power and my wisdom, and you'd be unable to resist, like so many others before. You could become my apprentice, of sorts.

"But, alas, along with my soul came baggage. I won't lie, I enjoyed experiencing food again, after so long of it being tasteless," he said, breaking off to take another sip of his wine. "I enjoyed _sex_ again, after so long of it being mechanical. I enjoyed charming people, and manipulating them, and getting my way, and so, I began to play with you.

"You were truly delightful," he said with a chuckle, while the bile rose in Hermione's throat. "You were so stubborn, and _so_ intelligent, so _like me_. I liked it when you yelled, when you stomped, when you scolded me. It became a game, one that I very much enjoyed.

"But then, one day, instead of scolding me when I flirted with you, you began to _blush_. You even began to stomp your feet as I spoke to other women," he said with another breath of laughter. "And I thought to myself, wouldn't a woman in _love_ be easier to convince? The people do adore a love story after all, and what better way to crush Potter than to seduce his mudblood?

"And it turned out to be so _easy!_ You _wanted_ to be seduced, you _wanted_ more than what Weasley could give you. And then one night, as I _fucked_ you, I could see it, clear as day in your eyes. _You truly loved me._ "

She rose from the stool and pushed it back loudly. She stepped back, unwilling to let the tears forming in her eyes fall.

"You're _disgusting._ "

And as he laughed, she stormed out of the kitchen.

She retreated to the guest bedroom, wondering why on earth she had thought it would ever be safe to be in the same room with him. Her tears finally fell as she slammed the door, and she pulled her hands through her hair.

_She was so fucking sick of crying._

_He was an awful, foul,_ heartless _man, regardless of whether he had a soul or not._

He didn't _deserve_ her tears.

She threw the books from the bed in anger, and fell back onto the space they had occupied. She lay on the large bed breathing heavily and stared at the ceiling.

_She would get around the vow. She would stop him. She had to._

 

*

 

Much to Hermione's pleasure, they barely spoke to each other after that night. Work was tense to say the least. Hermione only spoke to him when she had absolutely no other option, choosing to leave him notes whenever she needed anything.

He would often notice angry holes punched in them from her pressing so hard with her quill.

She was sure their co-workers had noticed that something was up. Even with his attempts to maintain their happy couple image, she wasn't making it easy.

_And why should she?_

_He'd used her. He'd lied to her, played her for his own amusement. She owed him nothing._

They'd leave work together, he'd hold her hand to keep up appearances and she'd hold back a scowl. Upon returning to his house, where he was _still_ making her stay, they'd go their own ways.

It became a routine. _An uncomfortable, forced routine._

Day by day, Hermione grew more confident. She began preparing full dinners, eating in the dining room, reading in the living room, taking a different selection from his library each evening. He joined her a couple of times, and they sat on opposite sides of the room in silence, each keeping to themselves.

She told herself over and over again not to get too comfortable. Just because he had been leaving her alone, didn't mean that he wasn't dangerous. She needed to gain his trust, while _not_ letting her guard down.

But as time went on, and as she slowly grew accustomed to their twisted routine, it was becoming harder to heed her own advice.

Come the next Friday, after a rather long day in the office, Hermione was feeling particularly brave. She ducked down to the kitchen and made herself something for dinner. With a quick glance to the living room to make sure he wasn't watching, she ducked into the pantry and pulled out a bottle of red wine, knowing it was his favourite.

It then dawned on her that she didn't know where he kept the glasses. She poked around in the top few cupboards, and frowned when she couldn't find any.

From behind her, she heard a deep throat clearing. She spun on her heel and looked over, seeing him looking up at her from where he sat. When she met his eyes, he nodded, gesturing down in front of her.

There, on the counter under her nose, sat _two_ wine glasses.

She frowned again, a bit irritated that she hadn't thought to just conjure them herself. Still, she pulled them towards her and filled both, taking his not so subtle hint.

She took her wand from her pocket and levitated one over to the coffee table near where he sat with a large book open on his lap. She then took her food and glass of wine and retreated into the dining room, happy for the chance to eat alone.

Whilst living with him, it was hard not to notice that he was possibly a bigger bookworm than she was. Since she had found out who he was, he had clearly dropped his acting and almost every time she had seen him since, he had a book under his nose. There were times when he would disappear for hours at a time though, times she assumed he locked himself up in his study, or possibly even the basement.

She found herself surprised by his lack of activity. He never left the house when she was there, which was almost all of their out of work hours. She had assumed that Voldemort would be busy, planning world domination and such. But instead, he chose to sit at home in silence with her.

Once she was done with her dinner, she moved into the living room, and summoned the book she was currently reading back off of where it lived on the tall shelf. She took up her usual spot on the couch across the room from him, and tucked her legs underneath her.

She finished her glass of wine with a large mouthful, and tried to put her focus into her book in an attempt to ignore him again. There was something about him, something that made it almost impossible to forget that he was there. It was like sitting in a room with a wild animal, and she never knew what she would get.

She glanced up at her empty glass, and pondered refilling it to help her relax. Almost as soon as she thought about it, however, the glass in front of her slowly began to refill on its own.

Her eyes shot up. He was staring at her with that _damn_ smirk again, and as she made eye contact, he _winked._

She quickly glared in his direction and looked down to focus on her book again.

She could still _feel_ him staring, but she refused to look back up. She was certain he was trying to bother her now. _She wouldn't give in, she wouldn't give in, she wouldn't give -_

"If you're seriously interested in taking up the Dark Arts, you shouldn't start with Gideon Farrier," his voice broke the silence of the room.

Her head snapped up instinctively at the sound of his voice.

"His way of writing is... misleading," he continued, as he rose from his armchair and stepped to the bookcase. His eyes scanned the top shelves, and with a flick of his wrist, a large, dusty book came down and landed in his grip.

She frowned, annoyed with herself for not being subtle enough in her book choices.

"Here," he said, making his way over to her, "Irina Verger is much better for beginners."

She looked between him and the book he offered apprehensively.

"I'm fine with this one," she said stubbornly after a moment.

He smirked again. "Trust me. This one first."

She frowned and took the book, making sure not to touch his hand as she did so.

"Thanks," she murmured, turning the book over in her hands.

He didn't respond as he stepped aside and took up a seat next to her. She immediately shuffled over and turned her back to him slightly, trying to put as much space as possible between them, although it proved difficult on the two-seater couch. Seeing that he wasn't going leave her alone again, she rolled her eyes and began to flick through the pages, taking a sip of her wine.

To her irritation, it _was_ more basic than the other one. Then again, she supposed if anyone could give her advice in the Dark Arts, it would be him.

 _But she wasn't about to go telling him_ _that._

She took another large mouthful and tried not to think about the man next to her.

"You know," he started, interrupting her yet again, "if you truly wish to learn... I can teach you. You'll learn much quicker with my help."

She snorted and didn't look up from the book. "I don't want your help."

"I can teach you things the books cannot. You'll learn more, you'll learn it quicker, it would be to your _advantage -_ "

She took another gulp of her wine as he spoke and turned to face him.

"I know what you're trying to do," she said confidently, raising a pointed finger. "And it's not going to work."

He let out a breath of laughter and extended his arm, resting it over the back of the couch behind her. She scooted over, until her leg was firmly pressed against the armrest and she could move no more.

"And pray tell, just _what is it_ that am I doing?" He asked, his voice lowering.

"You're trying to lure me into this - this false sense of security. It's _not_ going to happen."

He chuckled.

"So you can just - just take your _help_ and your _charm_ somewhere else."

"You think I'm charming?"

She huffed. "You know very well what you are!" She closed her books and piled them up, and rose to her feet, her head spinning from the alcohol slightly. "Now if you'd _excuse me._ "

She only made it a few steps down the hall before she noticed that he was following her. She angrily stopped and spun around to face him again.

" _What do you want?!_ Why can't you leave me alone?!" She demanded.

He smiled and stepped closer, Hermione retreating until her back pressed against the wall.

"I'm just trying to _help_ you. I vowed not to harm you, you don't need to _fight_ me," he said, raising a hand to lift her chin up.

She stared at him incredulously and swatted his hand away.

"I can teach you things that no other wizard can," he continued in a low voice. "Isn't that what you want? To learn from someone who can keep up with you? You'd be mad to refuse me. You're far too brilliant for an ordinary life, Hermione, and with my help, you could be _incredible."_

He had moved closer as he spoke, lowering his face to hers. With only a few centimetres between them, it was the closest he had been since she had found out about him.

Under the influence of the wine, with his familiar _smell_ , and the sound of his _voice_ , there was a _traitorous_ side of her that wanted to lean in. It _awoke_ , and it wanted her to _forget_ and pretend he was still _Ben_ and that he _loved_ her.

She closed her eyes and tried to keep her thoughts straight.

"You know that I'm right," he added, gently brushing her cheek with a fingertip.

"Please don't," she whispered with her eyes still shut.

"You need me," he whispered in return, "just as much as I need you. We could be great, you and I."

She turned her head away, trying to distance herself from his _damn_ fingertips.

"I know you want this, just as much as I do," he continued, and suddenly she was unsure of what 'this' he was referring to. He brought her head back as he cupped her jaw with both hands.

Her head spun. He was right. _He was always right._ But no matter what she _wanted,_ she couldn't live in a make-believe bubble. He _wasn't_ Ben, he _didn't_ love her, he was _Voldemort._

_He was a monster._

She pushed him back just enough so she could duck under his arm and dash out. This time, she didn't opt for the bedroom; she went straight for the back door. She yanked it open and stormed out into the cold night. She turned off of the path out underneath her favourite tree where a large log sat. She plonked herself down on it, and cradled her head in her hands, grateful that he didn't follow her this time.

_She couldn't let him win._

_But she needed his trust._

_Perhaps she could let him_ think _he'd won?_

_But he'd see through that._

_Maybe she_ could _let him teach her. He was an extraordinary wizard, she couldn’t deny that._

_But he'd never teach her anything useful to help her get out of the vow, and wasn't that the whole point of learning the Dark Arts?_

_..._

_Unless he taught her the killing curse._

 

*

 

After their last encounter, Hermione put in an extra effort to maintain the distance she had put between them. She went back to tip-toeing around him, reading in what was now her bedroom, and she didn't touch another drop of wine, unable to trust herself under its influence.

It only lasted a week, however, until their awkward pattern of co-habitation was once again broken.

After a _long,_ hot shower to relax her muscles, Hermione made her way downstairs to start on dinner much later than she usually would. She bounded down the last stair and went to turn into the dining room, when she heard a faint voice echoing from down the hall.

Ever the curious one, Hermione turned left instead of right and tip-toed down the hall toward the living room.

"- many are there?" Voldemort's voice echoed.

"Six. Not including the twelve still in holding with the Ministry. I couldn't tell you where they stand," an unfamiliar deep voice responded.

Hermione slowed down as she approached the end of the hall, her curiosity peaking. _He hadn't had company while she was there before._

"I'll handle them," Voldemort responded, followed by a moment of silence.

"Shall I... remove the others?" The second voice asked.

"No. Not yet," Voldemort said quickly. "We will have to try harder sway them. Have you heard anything more from Dolohov?"

"I - no, My Lord, _forgive me_ , but she is insistent upon seeing _you_ ," the second voice replied.

Hermione took another hesitant step.

 _This could be her chance._ If he allowed her to sit in on his meetings, she could figure out what he was up to. She could try to give hints to Harry, or she could try to manipulate his decisions herself. _Perhaps he needed a dose of his own medicine._

"She will have to be patient then, won't she?"

As she reached the doorway, she poked her head around the corner. She saw the back of Voldemort's head over the back of the armchair, while the other man sat across from him. But it was the other bearded man who drew her attention.

_Florian Evrard._

_Months_ of searching... and here he was, right in front of her.

She stepped into the room, unable to stop herself. Her movement drew the attention of Florian, who stood up upon seeing her and drew his wand. Her eyes widened as she mirrored his movement, pointing her own wand back.

Between them, Voldemort turned to the side, looking to her out of his peripheral vision.

"Don't you have somewhere else to be?" he asked after a moment, his face void of expression.

She lifted her chin stubbornly and lowered her wand before stepping forward and stopping next to his armchair. His eyes met hers and did not leave as she moved. He held her stare for a moment before exhaling through his nose. He closed his eyes in frustration and slowly turned back to Florian.

"Florian, lower your wand. This is Hermione Granger. Hermione, Florian," he introduced, gesturing between the two.

Florian did as he instructed, though he looked between them incredulously.

"M-my Lord?"

"Ignore her, Florian. She may stay."

Hermione stood up straighter at his permission and looked down her nose to Evrard.

"I -" Florian stuttered, as he slowly sat back down, again meeting Hermione's eyes. "As I was saying," he began hesitantly, once again looking back to Voldemort. "Dolohov is refusing to so much as _speak_ with me again."

Voldemort leaned one arm on his armrest and leaned his head against his finger. "I can get a message to Antonin. Perhaps he can make her see sense."

"I have tried bringing up Antonin... it seems there is no love lost between them."

Voldemort sighed. "What would you have me do?"

Florian's mouth twitched, but he stayed silent.

Without moving his head, Voldemort's eyes turned to Hermione.

"What would _you_ have me do?"

Hermione tensed. _It was a trick question._

"If you wish for your appearance to remain unknown... nothing. You don't need her," she said quietly.

Voldemort smiled and let out a breath of humourless laughter.

"No," he agreed. "I don't. But she is central to the old followers. I can't have her expressing her doubt to the others."

"Why not?"

His eyebrow quirked.

"You don't need them either," she said, seeing Florian swallow nervously from across the room. "Your strategy has changed. Your people need to change too."

He looked at her thoughtfully for a moment before turning back to Florian.

"Isn't she wonderful?" he asked, breaking out in a grin.

Florian slightly twitched again, purposefully not making eye contact.

"You don't think so?"

"I - My Lord, it's just - has she - is she under the Imperius curse?"

Voldemort laughed again and turned back to Hermione.

"It wasn't necessary. She is here completely of her own choosing," he said, reaching a hand out to brush her fingers with his own. "Isn't that right?"

She snatched her hand away at his contact, and scowled.

He laughed yet again, this time seeming almost genuine. He turned back to Florian, who sat watching their interaction with a held breath.

"She will be here quite often," he continued. "It would be best for you to get used to it."

"I - _yes,_ of course."

"Get another letter to Athena. If she doesn't bite, we will have to wait. By September, I can send Rosier. She'll listen to him."

Florian nodded.

Voldemort took a deep breath and turned to look back up at Hermione. He stared for a moment.

"You may leave us," Voldemort stated, flicking his eyes back to Florian.

He didn't waste any time obeying; Florian immediately rose to his feet and tilted his head.

"My Lord," he said before turning from his heel and leaving the room.

Voldemort did not move nor speak until the sound of the back-door closing echoed through the hall.

He turned back to Hermione slowly.

"And just what do you think you're playing at?" he asked his eyes slightly narrowing.

She clenched her jaw, and moved around the room, taking a seat at the couch where Florian had sat.

"I want to be included," she said firmly.

He let out a sound of disbelief. "I have offered you ignorance. You do not wish to take it?"

"Did you really think that I would?"

The corner of his mouth twitched.

"No," he said slowly. "No, I didn't."

Hermione pursed her lips and again made eye contact. When she did not speak, Voldemort leaned forward.

"If that is your wish," he said.

She nodded firmly.

"But allow me to make myself plain," he started with a hardened expression, rising to his feet. "You will attend the meetings that I wish for you attend. You will attend, _only_ because I want you to. Don't think for a moment that I don't know what you are doing. You do not pull the strings here."

He stepped closer as he spoke, each step increasing her heart rate. His voice was cold, _chilling._

_He can't hurt you, he can't hurt you, he can't hurt you._

"Am I understood?" he promoted slowly.

"Yes," she said softly.

He nodded and stepped back.

Taking as that as a signal to exit, she left the room in a hurry, heading straight upstairs for what was now her bedroom. She closed the door behind her and leaned her back against it, taking a deep breath.

_He can't hurt you, he can't hurt you, he can't hurt you._


	15. Lessons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiiii, so I just thought I would take a moment to thank those of you who have reviewed (you’re amazing, please continue, I appreciate all feedback, good or bad), and also to issue a small warning. It probably goes without saying, but from here on in, Voldemort and Hermione’s relationship will not be a happy one. There will be manipulation, a lot of fights, and a bit of violence sprinkled in there from here on out. So, consider this a trigger warning for, essentially, the rest of this story. Also, please note that there will be mentions of addiction.  
> Okay, that’s all, so, on with the chapter! Please enjoy

Hermione sat in the backyard of Voldemort's townhouse on the large, fallen log, flicking through her notebook. Over the last few weeks, she had been taking note of all of the spells she wanted to learn, and had been eagerly waiting for the opportunity to practice. That afternoon, she had finally been given the perfect chance; Voldemort had left in the early morning without word as to how long he would be. At first, she was hesitant to begin at the risk of being caught, but after a few hours of solitude, she assumed he wouldn't be back in a hurry.

The backyard, like the house, had an undetectable extension charm placed on it, giving Hermione ample space to practice her spellwork. That, along with the fact that the Ministry wouldn't be able to detect her activity, made the space was perfect.

Once she had decided on a starting point, she took up stance in the centre of the grass and drew her wand. She had chosen to start with a shield charm, described in multiple texts as 'basic'. Really, she wasn't sure _why_ she had only seen it described in 'dark' books, but it was supposedly quite useful against Dark curses, so she figured it was a good place to begin.

Feeling the familiar rush of excitement of learning something new, she straightened her shoulders and took a breath.

" _Sidio!_ " She called, putting particular focus into the circular wand movements that had been described.

She immediately frowned as she failed to cast the shield. Really, she hadn't been _expecting_ to get it on the first try, but she had _hoped_ that she would, especially with a basic spell.

But, not one to let failure get her down, she tried again.

And again.

And _again_.

It took a solid fifteen tries before she managed to manifest a small pale blue mist similar to how the spell was described in her books. It wasn't as solid or opaque as they had said, but it was a good start.

With a small feeling of accomplishment, she kept practicing until it appeared a bit more solid. Once she was happy with her progress, she moved onto a simple sounding curse, one which would temporarily blind an opponent. Very similar to the _Obscuro_ charm, but without the blindfold, longer lasting, and with the risk of permanent damage to the target if the curse is not lifted soon enough. Seeing as she only had the tree to practice on and not a real opponent, she decided it was safe enough to try.

" _Intenebris!_ "

And for the second time that day, Hermione failed to cast a spell on the first try.

Still, with gritted teeth, she forced herself to stay positive and persisted.

She tried with her arm straight. She tried with her arm bent. She tried flicking her wand left. She tried flicking her wand right. She tried changing her stance. She even tried with her non-wand hand.

But it simply wouldn't work!

After a few more failed attempts, she found herself almost as frustrated as she had been in sixth year potions with Harry. Her wand movements were perfect, she was sure of it. Her _posture_ was perfect. She was positive her pronunciation was perfect.

There was simply no reason the spell shouldn't work.

With a huff, she tried again and barely withheld a groan as her wand once again failed to produce the curse.

"Would you like some assistance?"

Her head snapped to her left, seeing Voldemort standing up on the back veranda, leaning lazily against one of the posts.

"No," she said immediately, far too frustrated to with the spell to worry about him catching her during her practice session. She turned back to her target, and once again tried to focus.

"You appear to be struggling."

"I'm _fine_ ," she said, rolling her eyes as he stepped down onto the grass.

"Go on then," he said, nodding towards her tree-target.

She sighed and turned to the tree, raising her wand as she did. With as much focus as she could muster, she tried again.

"In _tene_ bris!"

Nothing happened.

"Let me help," he began, making his way over her.

"I don't _need_ your help!"

"Shh," he shushed, stepping around to face her. "Now, firstly you need to forget what they taught you in school, forget what they taught you in the Ministry. They train you to be a sheep, they don't train you to be powerful," he instructed as he lifted her arm and straightened her elbow, directing her wand to the tree.

"That's -"

" _Shh_ ," he shushed again, moving around to stand behind her. "Next, you I want you to close your eyes and truly _feel_ your magic. To perform the Dark Arts, meaning, feeling, _passion,_ and a strong connection to your magic are required _._ Without those, I guarantee you won't get very far."

"I can _feel_ my magic perfectly fine on my own, thank you very much," she snapped.

She tensed as he placed his hands on her shoulders and gently pulled them back, ignoring her previous outburst.

"Feel it flow through you in each and every cell of your body. Feel it in your _essence._ You are not separate from your magic. It is you, and you are it," he instructed in a low voice. He released her shoulders and stepped back. "Now take a deep breath, relax, and _feel_ your magic as an extension of yourself as you cast."

She kept her eyes closed and focused on doing as he instructed, although she was _sure_ that was what she had been doing her whole life. Connecting with her magic was how she cast _all_ of her spells, was it not?

She breathed deeply through her nose and slowly relaxed her muscles one by one.

"It is more than just relaxing, Hermione," he said, as if he had heard her thoughts. "Feel it connecting through each and every part of you."

She took another deep breath and took a moment to consciously focus on her own body. Her fingertips, her toes, her elbows, her knees. She imagined her magic coursing through her like electricity, passing through each limb, each bone...

_Was that gentle humming coming from her?_

"Try again," he said quietly.

" _Intenebris,_ " she tried softly.

Her eyes widened as the spell shot out from her wand and collided with the tree with enough force to splinter the trunk.

The moment the spell had left her wand, it almost felt like her body was _recoiling_ from it. Starting from her fingertips and running down her arms to her torso was a pleasant, warm, humming of her magic. She stared down at herself, marvelled by the feeling of her body mildly buzzing.

"Is - is this normal?" She asked with wide eyes, as she turned back around to see him looking down at her smugly.

"The Dark Arts can have that affect on you," he said knowingly. "Certain spells more than others. The feeling will fade, the more you use them."

"So is this what the books mean? When they say that the Dark Arts, y'know, _effect_ you?"

"Yes. Being connected, _truly_ connected to ones magic in such a close way can be... euphoric. It's not _exclusive_ to the Dark Arts, although you cannot perform Dark magic without it. The same effect can be felt in a wizard performing the lightest of magic though, if they do it right."

She nodded, finding his description much easier to understand than the ones in the textbooks.

"Why isn't this described more often? I mean, why wouldn't we be taught this in the first place? If it is as you say, surely more _good_ witches and wizards would've noticed such a -" she broke off as she looked back down to her hands in wonder, "- phenomenon."

He nodded in understanding and crossed his arms over across his chest. "It's a rare thing, to have that sort of control. The majority of 'good' witches and wizards of whom you speak that know of it often choose to distance themselves from their own magic. Although it will make anything you cast both more powerful and _pleasurable,_ some find it not worth the risk," he explained. "It can become... addictive."

"Addictive? Like muggle cigarettes?"

He smiled and let out a breath of laughter, glancing away before speaking.

"Something like that," he said quietly as he turned back and headed for the house, leaving her standing in the grass alone, pondering his words.

That night, as she lay in bed staring up at the ceiling, Hermione conceded. Although she still refused to accept that she _needed_ his help, he was right in that she would learn much quicker with it. Not only that, but it was a surefire way to gain his trust.

And she _needed_ his trust.

But then, she also wondered whether she _really_ needed to learn the Dark Arts. Maybe she should just give up now, before she got too far in. She might be able to find a way around the vow without learning the Dark Arts if she tried hard enough. But she also couldn't help but wonder... was this what had turned charming Tom Riddle into the psychopath that was Lord Voldemort? Had his eagerness to learn and his connection to his magic been like muggle substance abuse, and he had become hopelessly addicted? Was that what _she_ was fated for?

Perhaps it wasn't worth it, if the Dark Arts were so addictive like he described.

...who was she kidding, of _course_ it was worth it. _Anything_ would be worth it. She could sacrifice herself and her sanity in a heartbeat if it meant ridding the world of Lord Voldemort for good. She was a Gryffindor. Of course she could do it, _happily_. _Couldn't she?_

And so, with a clear mind, she decided to accept his offer.

*

She had been putting it off for weeks. But the following Saturday, the moment she had been dreading was finally upon her.

She circled the living room of her small cottage, where she had agreed to meet Harry, Ginny and Ron. Although she had been grateful for the chance to return to her place, she simply couldn't keep still for nerves. Voldemort had, thankfully, absolutely refused to have the three of them anywhere near his place, so she had been rewarded with a day to herself.

_Inch by inch, she was getting her freedom back._

She had brought her small beaded bag with her and upon her arrival, she had taken the opportunity to cram it full of more of her books, her family photos, and some extra potions ingredients _just in case_. She had also been hoping that by bringing it, one of her friends would take it as a hint. _The last time she had worn it, they had been running from Voldemort._

She straightened as a knock on the door echoed through the room. Swallowing her nerves, she stepped over to the door, and pulled it open.

"Come in," she said with a forced smile. Of the three, only Ginny returned it.

She gestured to the sofas, and took up a spot furthest from the door, placing her hands on her lap nervously. Up until now, she had managed to act alright at work, but she wasn't sure how well she would do while her friends were interrogating her.

_As long as she didn't give him away, all would be alright,_ she told herself repeatedly. _They could hate her, and never speak to her again, for all it mattered. As long as she survived long enough to stop him, and they were safe._

"Hermione," Ginny broke the silence at last, with a quick glance to the other two men. "I think I speak for all of us when I say that we're not _angry_ , we're just... a bit confused," she finished, straight to the point as always.

Harry and Ron nodded.

"I mean, you're an adult, you're perfectly capable of making your own decisions, and you can see whoever you want, but... why didn't you tell us?"

She briefly caught Harry's eye, warmed by the notion that after it all, he hadn't been the one to tell them. Although, she wasn't sure that them finding out from the Daily Prophet was any better than hearing it from Harry.

"I - I _meant_ to. I was going to, but I just... I knew you all wouldn't approve and I didn't want to hurt any of you, and I just put it off, and off, and it was selfish of me, and I ended up hurting you all anyway, but..." she broke off to sigh. "I'm sorry. I'm _really_ sorry."

Ginny nodded.

"You should have heard it from me. Not those _stupid_ magazines. I'm sorry," she repeated.

An awkward silence followed, and she watched as Ron fiddled with the zipper of the cushion next to him.

"Are you alright though?" Harry asked after another prolonged moment of silence. "He didn't... he hasn't hurt you or anything?"

"Harry -"

"You were really with your parents the other week?"

"Yes. _Yes._ I'm fine. He hasn't -" _She hated him for making her do this,_ "- hasn't hurt me, or forced me to do anything. He's been wonderful, truly. My family needed me, and I just went. I suppose I've just... this whole thing has just made me feel, alone, I guess," she said with a gesture between herself and Ron. "You and Ron are so close, and you're so busy Ginny, I just didn't want to burden any of you."

"You're never a burden!"

"Yeah. Yeah, I know. I shouldn't have -" she trailed off as Ginny nodded.

"You can always come to us," Ginny affirmed. Harry scratched at the back of his neck, as if not wanting to correct Ginny out of politeness. "And we just wanted to make sure, you know, that _Ben_ hasn't forced you into anything, and that you're _happy_."

"Of course. He's -" she broke off, trying to remember how she had felt about him before she knew who he was, "- he's not like that. It just - I mean... we see each other _every day_ at work, and he understands me, and we're _so_ similar, and it just, sort of, happened."

Ginny's expression softened while Ron's hardened.

"Of course that's what he bloody well wants you to think!" Ron protested, looking as if he couldn't stop himself. "You of all people should know!"

Harry and Ginny exchanged a tense glance while Hermione looked down to her lap and focused intently on her clasped hands.

"Ron -"

"I think, we might just get some air, alright?" Harry said, standing and helping Ginny up.

"Yeah..." mumbled Ron.

Harry and Ginny moved over to the backdoor, Ginny turning back to shoot Ron a sympathetic look. Once they had shut the backdoor behind them, a loud silence echoed through the cottage.

Hermione cursed her past self. This was long overdue. She knew it. But she still didn't want to do it.

"Hermione," he started softly. "If you've... y'know, if you've really moved on, then... _alright_. And I know I should have said it earlier, when I had the chance. But I just... I always thought we'd sort it out," he said, so quietly that she had to strain to hear him. "And, then you sent me the divorce papers, and it became real, and I didn't - I should've -"

"Ron -"

"I _want_ us to sort it out," he said decisively. "I want us to try again. I want you to leave that _prat_ , I want us to be a family -"

" _Ron_ -"

"- and I want us to go back to how we _were._ "

"It's too late," she interrupted, trying not to let the stirring of her stomach get to her.

"But we can -"

"You were right," she interrupted again. "I've moved on. I really think you should do the same."

"'Mione -"

"I'm sorry," she said firmly, putting all of her effort into ignoring the sudden pain in her chest.

He met her eyes, staring like a lost puppy. _It broke her heart._

"I... okay," he finally said. "If you're sure."

She glanced away again, trying with all of her might to withhold her tears.

"But you know, if you ever need anything..."

She nodded. "Thank you," she said quietly.

"I - I should -" he broke off, pointing over to the backdoor, and slowly rising to his feet.

She nodded again, and followed suit.

He awkwardly approached, and scratched the back of his head before closing the distance and taking her in a tight hug.

"I love you," he said quietly.

She almost sobbed.

He stepped back, and smiled sadly. With a quick pat on the shoulder, he stepped around her and exited through the backdoor, leaving Hermione, once again, alone.

*

"How did it go then?" Harry asked once Ron had entered the Potter house.

Ron didn't immediately respond. He crossed the small living room and threw himself onto the couch, extending his long legs out to rest on the coffee table. He brought an arm up to cover his eyes.

"Not well?" Ginny asked quietly.

Ron sighed loudly. "I don't think she's under the Imperius curse," he said at last.

Harry and Ginny exchanged a worried glance.

"She seemed so... _Hermione._ Normal."

Ginny circled over to the couch and gently patted him on the arm comfortingly.

"I'm sorry," she said gently.

Ron sighed loudly.

"So," He started after a moment. "If it's not a love potion, and it's not the Imperius curse... then what is it? There _has_ to be something."

"Blackmail," Harry said quickly. "Or, he's just outright threatening her. I've been thinking long and hard, and it's the only other option I can think of."

"I don't -" Ginny started before giving up.

"What?" both men asked at once.

She sighed. "Nothing."

"No, tell us," insisted Ron.

She looked away uncomfortably. "I just can't help but think... maybe we're just... _wrong._ Maybe he is just a _nice_ guy, who Hermione has fallen for, and looks _weirdly_ like Tom Riddle."

The other two men gaped.

"Not you, too!" Ron yelled as he sat up.

"Well, it makes sense, doesn't it? We've tried everything else!" Ginny insisted.

"We've still got the Polyjuice to try," Harry suggested.

"When will it be ready?" Asked Ron.

"A month," he said sadly.

Ron's shoulders slumped.

"Alright. Okay, fine. One more month, and then we should know," Ginny said in a slightly happier tone.

Ron looked back toward the cottage door. "Yeah, if she lasts that long," he said grimly.

*

Hermione slowly stepped up to the front door of the white townhouse as if on autopilot.

_She wasn't even sure why she had come back._

Ron had _truly_ loved her, and she had left him for _Voldemort._ She had been selfish, and so swept up in her attraction to another man, that she had thrown away her chance at happiness, at _real love._

She pushed the door open and gently closed it behind her, completely lost in her own thoughts.

She'd surely never love again. This was it for her. If she managed to live to an old age, which seemed very unlikely at the present moment, she'd be loveless, childless and _alone_.

As she trudged into the dining room headed toward the kitchen, Voldemort looked up from his book and watched her intently.

"How did it go?" He asked.

She didn't answer as she passed through. She didn't want to talk. There was only one thing that could help her now. _She needed wine._

She ducked into the pantry and sifted through the bottles stored at the bottom, hoping to find a particularly expensive one. Her eyebrows lifted however, as she stumbled across a stronger option. _Vodka._

She pulled the bottle out to the counter and conjured a large shooter glass. She filled it to the brim, and immediately brought it to her lips, wincing at the burn down her throat.

"That well?" Voldemort asked, having entered just in time to see her cough.

"Shut up," she snapped. "This is all your fault."

She filled the glass again and quickly downed the second shot, this one not quite as painful as the last.

He laughed as she slammed the glass back down on the counter top.

"You might want to ease up. We've both seen how well you handle your alcohol."

"I said, _shut up!_ "

He stepped forward and snatched the bottle out of her grip.

" _Hey! Give it back!_ "

"No. It's mine, and it was expensive."

She snorted. "Well are you the 'greatest wizard of all time' or _not?_ " She pointed out mockingly. "Just make more!"

He glared.

" _Fine!_ " She huffed. She pulled out her wand and gave it a swish, before shooting him a smug smile as her shot glass refilled.

With a flick of his wrist, the glass slid across the counter and made its way into his waiting hand.

" _What's your problem?!_ "

"I'm trying to stop you from drinking yourself into a stupor, you daft woman."

"I am _not_ daf -"

"Prove it then. Prove to me that you are any better than fat old Janice in the office, because thus far, all I am seeing is a foolish girl in over her head. You have done nothing but mope, and stomp, and _whine_ since you've been here, and _so help me_ if I have to live with it for another _day,_ " he ranted with a scowl, bringing her shooter glass to his lips and downing the shot in a swift gulp.

She felt like she had been slapped.

"Don't look at me like that, you know just as well as I do that _you_ chose not to see your little friends sooner," he said, as he banished the shooter glass.

" _That's not the point!_ " She screeched, her anger hitting tipping point. " _You've ruined my life!_ "

"You did it wonderfully all by yourself, love. I merely helped you reach a multitude of orgasms along the way," he chirped with a smirk.

It felt like all of the blood in her body had risen to her cheeks.

"You're a pig," she said icily, stepping around the counter toward the living room.

"You certainly weren't saying that at the time," he said with a laugh, following her out of the room.

Hermione threw herself onto the couch, pulling her current book off of the coffee table as she did so and trying to ignore the bane of her existence. If she couldn't _drink_ away her sorrows, she would _read_ them away.

She continued to ignore him as he sat in his favourite armchair facing her, with his elbows leaning on on his knees.

"When's the next practice session then?" He asked in a much happier tone, looking pointedly toward her book.

She frowned, but did not respond.

"You don't need to sneak around," he continued. "I know that's what you're planning, and I'd be happy to continue to help you."

Her frown remained firmly in place.

"Come on, love. You know it's the best decision for you," he said before adding, "I won't offer again."

Unable to take it anymore, she closed her book with a satisfying thud.

"Okay, _okay._ Fine. I accept your offer," she said at last. " _On the condition_ that you stop being such a _prat_."

His eyebrows shot up.

" _And_ , _I_ choose what I learn."

"That's not how being a student works," he said quickly.

"I don't care. I don't need to learn _all_ of your _hideous_ magic," she said firmly.

He rolled his eyes dramatically. "You will learn what I wish for you to learn."

"But -"

" _No buts._ "

"I won't -"

" _Final offer._ "

She narrowed her eyes. "Fine," she said grudgingly.

"Excellent," he said cheerily, rising to his feet. "We'll start with the Imperius curse tomorrow afternoon."

And that was how Hermione ended up practicing in his backyard that Monday evening after work.

It wasn't going well.

"Are you even trying?!" He yelled from across the backyard. "I can see the crook in your elbow from _here!_ How many times do I need to say it? Arm _straight_ , the movement needs to be in your _wrist!_ "

She rolled her eyes and put a conscious effort straightening her arm. _Again._

_Why the bloody hell had she agreed to this?_

Focusing on the small rabbit nibbling on the grass between them, she tried again.

" _Imperio._ "

She held her breath and watched the rabbit to continue to nibble happily while she tried to instruct it to jump.

" _Argh!_ " She yelled, exasperated.

" _You need to relax!"_

_"How am I supposed to relax with you standing over there bellowing at me?!_ " She screeched, finally losing her patience.

She turned away from him and kicked a rock across the yard.

They'd been in the yard for half an hour, and the curse was still eluding her. _She was Hermione Granger, brightest witch of her age, damn it! Magic never beat her. Spells never beat her. But yet, she simply couldn't get this blasted one to work! Surely if_ Harry _could manage it, she could. Surely!_

"Here," he said, having made his way over to her. He moved behind her and turned her to face the rabbit again.

"Straighten your arm -" he ran his hand down her arm, leaving his hand under her elbow. His body was pressed against the back of hers, his other hand resting on her waist to keep her still.

"Now, _relax_ ," he whispered in her ear. "Take a deep breath. Remember what you did last time. _Feel_ your magic. _Feel_ your will. You need to have a clear picture of what you want it to do. You are stronger than the rabbit. _Relax_."

She withheld the urge to inform that the way he was pressed against her was making it _impossible_ to relax.

She took a deep breath, and tried to focus.

_You are stronger than the rabbit._

Feeling the muscles in her back relax, Voldemort slowly slid his hand back down and away from Hermione's arm, leaving it resting on the other side of her waist.

_You are stronger than the rabbit._

"Now, _cast_ ," he instructed into her ear in a whisper.

She took another breath.

" _Imperio._ "

The rabbit hopped.

_*_

"We should move on," he announced loudly, breaking the silence of the living room the following night. "Now that you've got the Imperius curse, which I expect you to carry on practicing without me, the next logical step is to -"

"No," she interrupted, knowing where he was going. "I don't want to learn that. Not yet."

"It is a fundamental basic of the Dark Arts. If you are _truly_ committed -"

"No."

"Hermione -"

" _No_. There are plenty of other things to learn first. Not to mention, the only possible reason I have for learning the Cruciatus curse at the moment is to use it on _you_ ," she snapped. "And as I'm fairly certain that that would be a direct violation of the vow, I see no reason to -"

He interrupted her with a deep laugh.

"It's not about using the spell, love," he said, Hermione wincing at his use of the word 'love'. "It's about honing your abilities and attaining a higher level of _control_ over your magic."

"To use that spell would require me to _want_ to cause pain. I don't," she said, turning her chin up.

"I'm sure I could find you a volunteer that would change your mind. Florian, perhaps? Or someone you're closer acquainted with? _Draco Malfoy?_ "

Her eyes narrowed. "He may be a foul little weasel, but even he doesn't deserve that."

He laughed. "Since I've returned to Britain, he has ignored each and every one of my calls. He very much _does_ deserve that."

"I won't," she said stubbornly.

He rolled his eyes dramatically, before pulling his wand from his pocket. With a swish, a textbook from the living room came soaring in and landed in his hand.

"Here," he said, thrusting the book in her direction. "You will need to learn the Cruciatus curse whether you like it or not, but in the meantime..."

" _Magic of the Mind?_ " She asked, reading the title of the book aloud.

"We'll begin with Legilimency while you get used to the idea."

She sighed, but was happy that he was willing to compromise.

"Alright," she agreed as she started flicking through the book.

She spent the evening absorbing as much as she could from the book and found that she was actually quite interested in Legilimency, quickly becoming eager to begin learning. Professor Snape had referred to Voldemort as the greatest Legilimens of all time - surely that meant there could be no better teacher?

She then couldn't help but wonder, _could Voldemort have been the one who had taught Snape his Occlumency?_ She had managed to pass her Occlumency tests with the Ministry quite easily, but she was the first to admit that she was nowhere near perfect. There was definite room for improvement.

And so, a week later, as they sat across from each other that Sunday night, Hermione found herself, for the first time in weeks, _excited_ to be in his company.

"I will let you in so that you can practice the spell. But you will only see what I want you to see. To practice Legilimency at its fullest, you will need an unsuspecting target, but for now, this will suffice," he explained, leaning forward from where he was sat in the living room. "Are you ready?"

Hermione nodded and met his eyes, feeling very unsure about entering _Voldemort's_ mind.

"You know the incantation, and wand movements?"

She nodded, having been practicing them on her own during the week.

"Good. Whenever you're ready."

" _Legilimens_ ," she cast after a gulp.

The feeling was indescribable. It was very much like the feeling of entering a memory by pensieve, but without the falling. She felt like she was thrust out of her body and into another, wading through an ocean of thoughts. She didn't even have the chance to feel proud of herself that she had succeeded with the spell on her first try before she was drawn toward a very specific memory, almost like she was a passenger in a muggle vehicle, with somebody else driving. As she moved through towards it, his passing thoughts sounded like _static_ , echoing around her head, but not clear enough for her to actually interpret what they were.

Paying attention to the particular memory she had been thrust into, she saw a forest materialise. She felt herself walking uncontrollably through the damp bushes, but at the same time, it _wasn't_ herself. _And she certainly wasn't this tall._

She weaved through the trees, with a clear sense of direction, a clear sense of _purpose._ She sped up, excitement building in her stomach.

She was close to her destination now, she knew it. _The clearing was coming, almost -_

She was thrust back into her own mind, and felt like she was being pushed back into the couch she was seated at. She took a deep breath as she opened her own eyes once again and took in her surroundings.

"A good first effort," Voldemort said from across from her, looking completely unaffected.

She took another breath, feeling like she had just been running.

"Is - is it always like that?"

He raised an eyebrow.

"Like you're not _you_ anymore, and start to forget who you are?"

"No," he said quickly. "I was in control that time. When you, the caster, are in control, it can be very different."

She nodded, still trying to catch her breath.

"Shall we go again?" He asked after a quick moment.

She nodded again, and took a moment to calm herself, feeling a pleasant buzz in the pit of her stomach.

" _Legilimens._ "

This time the scene she was witnessing was indoors, as opposed to the last memory. She - or rather _Voldemort_ \- was relaxing in his bed rather comfortably. She was sitting up with her back resting on the head board, with his silk sheets covering her lower half, and hands resting behind her head. She was momentarily distracted by her naked chest. _His_ naked chest, rather, and the very obvious absence of her breasts.

Her attention was drawn to the ensuite as the door swung open, and a bushy haired woman stepped out and approached where she was sitting.

She realised she was looking at _herself._

And that she was _naked._

She forcefully pushed herself out of his mind and returned to herself with a gasp.

Looking up, she saw that Voldemort was laughing.

" _What the hell?!_ "

"That was that long weekend in July, don't you remember? You were here all weekend, and I didn't let you get dressed _once_ ," he said with a smirk and waggle of his eyebrows.

"Ugh, _you're disgusting!_ " She yelled as she rose from her chair.

"Oh, come on," he called as she left the room in a fluster. "Loosen up!"

She stomped through to the kitchen and conjured herself a glass, proceeding to fill it with water.

_Foul, loathsome,_ pig _of a man,_ she thought to herself bitterly as she tried to shake off the image of herself fully naked. _She looked very different from someone else's perspective._

She finished her glass of water and filled it a second time. As she sipped, she looked back down to examine her arms. They were still buzzing pleasantly, as if they were conducting an electrical current through them. It was beginning to make her hands twitchy.

It was strange; some spells would leave her whole body buzzing, as she had discovered with the Intenebris curse, while others, like the Imperius curse, left her with nothing.

She couldn't help but wonder what was the deciding factor? Perhaps it was intent. Many books described it as such. Making a rabbit hop in a patch of grass wasn't malicious, but rendering someone temporarily blind certainly was. Conjuring a shield charm wasn't malicious, and she hadn't felt anything from that, either.

But Voldemort had said, the effects can be felt even with _light_ magic, when cast correctly.

So, perhaps it was a side effect of more _advanced_ magic.

She bit her lip thoughtfully.

She needed to be careful. Although it was a pleasant feeling, one which she was currently quite enjoying, she couldn't let it take hold of her. All she needed, was to learn enough to progress to the Killing curse. She needed to keep her eye on the prize, and not get distracted along the way.

She couldn't let it control her. Not like it had surely controlled him.

*

William Deverill was proving to be a monumental pain in Hermione's backside. His lawyer was _still_ pushing hard for his release on bail, and his letters had been unrelenting. She stared at the most recent foot-long parchment that had been delivered that morning with a deep scowl.

Lawyers truly were the scum of the earth. There was _no way_ in _hell_ that she would be authorising the release of a murderer. She had more than enough guilt weighing on her mind without adding that on top.

After glaring at the parchment for a solid twenty minutes, she decided to hand it over to Voldemort. He _was_ the Head of Department, after all. The hard decisions should be his. Not to mention, she was sure that he wouldn't have the same issue with guilt that she did. The only problem, was that he had been missing all morning. He had left the office in a hurry first thing without any word as to where he was going, or how long he would be.

She grudgingly placed the letter in the middle of his desk, and went back to focus on some reports that were far easier to handle.

"Ms. Granger?" A timid voice from the door called shortly after, drawing her out of her focus.

"Yes?"

"An urgent letter has just come in for Jenkins. You wouldn't know where he's gone to?" The junior receptionist asked.

"No, sorry," she answered. "I'm sure he won't be long, though. You can leave it on his desk."

The young woman sent her a grateful smile and placed the letter on his desk, before leaving the office.

Hermione sighed and went back to her reports. How nice it must be, to be able to disappear from work for hours at a time.

A short while later, there was another knock on the door. "Ms. Granger?"

"Come in, Finch."

"I was just hoping to catch Jenkins. We have an arrest warrant to be put through, needs his authorisation. You wouldn't know where he's gone off to?"

"No, sorry," she repeated. "Perhaps you can go straight to Kingsley, if it's urgent? He's been gone for a while, I'm not sure when he'll be back."

"Kingsley's out for the week," Finch reminded her with a pained expression.

"Oh," Hermione said with a sigh. "Well, maybe he won't be long... actually, I might go and try to track him down," she decided out loud.

"Oh, great," Finch said, handing her the warrant as she stood. "Would you mind passing this on if you find him?"

"Of course," she said, taking the letter and following him out of the office.

She stood in the hallway for a moment, pondering her options. _If I were a homicidal maniac pretending to be a normal Department Head, where would I go?_

After a quick visit to Iris downstairs, followed by a trip to both the Library and the Department of Mysteries, she decided to head back on up to the Investigation Offices. Out of all of their staff members, he was awfully chummy with Euan. Maybe he had said something?

"Penrose," she called from down the hall as she approached. After a moment, his balding head appeared over the top of his half-walled booth. "You wouldn't happen to know where Ben's run off to, would you?"

He looked hesitant for a moment, and looked around to see who else was in earshot. He quickly cleared his throat and scratched behind his ear.

"Last I saw, he was headed down to Interrogations," he said quickly.

She narrowed her eyes and turned on her heel without thanking him, heading straight back for the lifts. _There was no one in need of questioning today._

Once the lift chimed at level ten, she hurried out and began searching the interrogation rooms one by one until she poked her head in number six. The main room was empty, but the lights were on. Thinking it strange, she stepped inside, closing the door behind her. On closer inspection, she noticed two people sitting in the interrogation room. Her eyes narrowed seeing the recorder on the outside table. It was off.

She clenched her jaw and approached the glass, seeing Voldemort sitting lazily with his arm resting along the back of his chair. Opposite him, sat one of Carrigan's men who had been apprehended after their raid of the forest. They were deep in conversation, though the speakers from the interrogation room had been switched off, so she couldn't make out what they were discussing.

With a flare of building rage, she stepped closer to the glass. She raised her fist and bashed on it loudly. "Hey!"

Both of their heads snapped to the glass, even though they couldn't see through it. She saw Voldemort's mouth move, cursing probably, before he pushed his chair back and slowly rose to a stand.

She waited by the door expectantly, frown firmly in place and hands firmly on her hips.

He pushed the door open forcefully and rolled his eyes once he saw that their visitor was her.

"Just _what_ exactly do you think you're doing?" She demanded once the door to the interrogation room had safely closed.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" He asked lazily, folding his long arms over his chest.

"Conversations with suspects one-on-one, particularly ones as high profile as this, _off the record_ are highly illegal," she chastised, pointing a finger to his face as she did so. "You know that."

He looked at her incredulously. "Your point being?"

"It's _illegal!_ I won't let this continue," she said stubbornly, refusing to back down.

" _You_ won't _let_ this continue?" He questioned, stepping closer.

"Yes. This stops _now_."

He took another step forward. "Head back upstairs, Hermione," he instructed quietly, not leaving any room for question.

"No! Not until this stops."

He exhaled loudly. "Look. I understand that you have this... _inflated_ sense of self-righteousness, and I understand that sometimes you have a hard time keeping it under control. And that's okay. We all have our flaws. But I _really_ need you to leave."

Her eyes narrowed further. "You _cannot_ use this job as a way to find yourself new followers."

He opened his mouth to speak.

" _Don't you_ dare _deny it, I know that's what you're doing!_ " She snapped. "It's _unethical._ You're taking people in helpless situations and _manipulating_ them! It's _wrong!_ "

He scoffed.

"Take him back to his holding cell," she instructed firmly.

" _No._ "

" _So, help me,_ I will _not_ hesitate to write to Kingsley!" She threatened, her voice raising.

He stepped closer, and brought his head down to her level, making eye contact. His icy stare made her immediately regretted her threat.

"You are not the only one in this room who has an interest in breaking our vow," he whispered, surprisingly calmly. "And believe me when I say that I am far more willing and able to do so than you are. So, if you'd like to remain alive, then I suggest you turn around, and head back upstairs, all the while _keeping your mouth shut._ "

Her resolve faltered slightly as his voice grew colder. Her eyes flicked downward to see that his hand had moved, and he was tapping against his thigh with his index finger out of reflex.

That pocket was where he kept his wand.

_Would he use it if she didn't back down?_

She met his eyes once more, and breathed out through her nose.

"This needs your signature," she said, matching his cold tone with her own as she handed him the folded-up warrant. She hoped he wouldn't notice the way it shook in her hold.

Without breaking her eye contact, he snatched it out of her hand, and unfolded it with a flick of his wrist. He silently conjured a quill and stepped around her, and gently pushed her hair off of her back around to her shoulder.

It felt like her skin was burning where his fingertips had touched.

She then felt the parchment press lightly against her back, followed by the scratching sound of him signing it.

She hoped he wouldn't notice how her pulse in her neck had sped up.

He stepped back around and handed the parchment back, meeting her eyes once more. She hesitantly took it, and swallowed.

"Is that all?" he asked, still in a whisper.

She stiffly nodded, relief filling her as he turned around and headed back into the interrogation room. She stepped out of the room quickly, and took a deep breath once she was back safely in the hallway. She took a moment to breathe, before straightening and moving back in the direction of the lift.

Once the door had closed, she allowed herself to relax as she started to lose herself in her own thoughts. _What he'd said about the vow... was he truly able to break it? Or, did his deal with Death prevent him from the vow's deadly effects?_ But then, why bother making the vow at all? _Why would he bother upholding his end of the deal if he couldn't die?_

_Unless he didn't_ know _whether Death would uphold his end of the bargain._

_The Tale of the Three Brothers had described Death as cunning. Perhaps Voldemort did not trust him. Perhaps, Voldemort, like the brothers Peverell, had also been cheated by Death._

Perhaps Voldemort was not as immortal as he had made it seem.

Still deep in thought, Hermione made the journey back to her office completely unaware of her surroundings. She managed to bump into not one, but two people on her way, still lost in her own mind. Once back in her office, she threw herself down in her chair, and lifted a quill, turning it slowly between her fingertips, just as her mind turned.

As she leaned back, she was brought back to the same conclusion that she had considered time and time again over the last few weeks. _He didn't need her. What he had said, was bullshit._

He was using his position in the Ministry to gain followers, to direct the case away from him, to keep himself and his closest allies out of Azkaban. That much was painstakingly obvious. But what he had said about needing _her_... was _complete and utter bullshit._

Why else would he threaten to kill her so easily if he didn't need her? There were plenty of other ways to threaten her that didn't involve killing her. He wanted her on his side, yes. She most definitely could become a very powerful asset, if she was to truly join him. _But he did not_ need _her._

He was simply attempting to make her feel special. Making her feel _needed. Attempting to keep her happy._

_Even when telling the truth, he was manipulative!_

She narrowed her eyes. She would not be so foolish as to believe a single thing he told her.

Two could play the game of manipulation.

*

Over the next month, Hermione _forced_ herself to get along with him. She grit her teeth each time he tried to wind her up, she ensured that her work at the Ministry was _always_ perfect, and most importantly, she made sure to ask lots of questions each time they had a training session.

She quickly learned that stroking his ego was by far the best way to deal with him. She never made herself seem _incompetent,_ but she intentionally tried to leave a small bit of room for improvement. Not _only_ did making him feel like she needed him seem to make their interactions easier to handle, but it actually _did_ end up helping her spellwork. His extra assistance, while it wasn't exactly _essential_ , ensured that her technique was perfect.

So, by the end of the month, Hermione had ended up much further along with her magic than she had initially anticipated, all thanks to his help. She hated to admit it, but with his watchful eye and minor adjustments to her techniques, the spells had started to come... _naturally._

The more of the Dark Arts that she learned, the more she felt like it truly was a _part of her_ , a part that while it had always been there, she simply hadn't _known_ about it before. The magic, the way it lingered after she cast, the way it's warmth spread all the way down to her toes, felt like the most natural thing in the world.

And honestly... _she hated it._

She hated how after a day of practicing, she'd lie awake the same night thinking about it, for _hours_ on end _._ She could almost _feel_ the stack of books on the bedside table, calling to her, whispering to her of all of the horrible things they could teach her, all of the new magic they could make her _feel._

She hated how he'd _smile_ , and _congratulate_ her when she cast the spells right, and how he'd always gave her that _look._ It was a knowing look, one that told her that he knew _precisely_ what her body was doing to her, like he knew _exactly_ how many hours she spent tossing and turning. Almost as if he was expecting something.

But he never spoke to her about it. He never asked her how she felt, and she never felt the need to tell him.

But, even with all of that, and with all of her good intentions... she couldn't bring herself to stop.

She didn't _want_ to stop.

 


	16. A Wedding With Rainbows

Hermione picked at her napkin with an uncomfortable sense of unease.

"Do we have to stay here?" She asked impatiently, looking around to focus on a group of four on the other side of the room, appearing be on a double date.

"You don't want dinner?"

Hermione had waited for him to finish work that Monday, eager for their weekly practice session, only to be disappointed when he took her hand and apparated them out to the outskirts of Diagon Alley. He had led her into a newish restaurant that she hadn't been into before, called The Nifty Lion. They had been directed to a romantic looking table for two, by the fireplace and everything, and Voldemort had ordered a bottle of red wine before she had a chance to protest.

"I just, would have preferred to go home," she said innocently, focusing back on the man opposite her.

He smirked. "'Home'?"

"Well, you've kind of made it my home."

"I suppose I have," he agreed, taking a sip of his wine.

She bit her lip and glanced back around them, unable to sit still.

"Something the matter?" He asked, giving her that _damn_ look again.

"No," she chirped, reaching out to grip her own glass. "But… I had just hoped that we could, you know, _practice_ some more? Maybe we'll have time when we get back? You mentioned Fiendfyre last week, and I've been reading -"

"You need a break,” he cut her off quickly.

"I don't want a break."

"You'll burn yourself out," he continued, leaning forward to rest his chin on his hands.

She took a mouthful of her wine. "I'm fine. I can handle it," she said stubbornly.

"I do wish you would trust me," he murmured, reaching a hand across the small circular table to caress the back of one of her hands gripping the wine glass. "I know what it's like."

"What _what's_ like?"

"The pull of the magic," he said, looking at her with an intensity that made it hard to _breathe_. "I can see it your eyes. It's calling you. Slowly sinking its roots deeper into you."

She immediately broke their eye contact, choosing to watch his fingers stroke her hand instead.

"I'm _fine._ "

"There is no shame in taking a break. Many better witches and wizards than you have been where you are."

She scoffed. "Like _you?_ "

His fingers stopped moving against her hand.

"Yes," he agreed softly.

Her head shot back up. "Oh," she managed to say quietly, taken off guard. “And did _you_ take a break, in my position?”

“No,” he said, his fingers moving once more to run themselves down the backs of hers. “I didn’t let anything stop me.”

“Then why do you expect me to?”

“Because you’re not a fool.”

She laughed out loud at that. “That might be the closest thing to a genuine compliment that you’ve ever given me.”

 

*

 

"Here it is," Ginny said, handing over the small mug filled with a thick, black substance.

"Wow," Harry remarked, taking the mug in both of his hands and inspecting its contents. "He looks even worse than Goyle."

"Yeah, like that's a surprise," Ron commented dryly from where he was laying on the couch.

"Alright," Harry started with a scrunched-up nose after taking a quick sniff. "Here goes."

He slowly brought the mug to his lips, and took a quick mouthful of the potion. He swallowed the substance down, before frowning.

"...Harry?" Ginny asked hesitantly, as Harry closed his eyes.

Harry quickly dropped the mug, and brought his hands to his mouth as he gagged. He took another deep breath before gagging again. This process repeated a few more times before he finally seemed to settle.

He stood up straight and winced in pain as he stretched his shoulders back, at the same moment as they grew broader. He rose in height by a few inches, and felt the strange sensation of his hands growing in size. He was thankful that he had been smart enough to remove his shoes before taking the potion; surely his feet would have been cramped in them.

He took another deep breath when he felt his body stabilise, and looked down to see longer, paler hands than what he was used to.

"How do I look?" Harry asked quickly, turning back to face Ginny and Ron.

Ginny looked at him sadly while Ron scowled. "Disgustingly handsome," Ginny said quietly.

" _Shit_ ," Harry said as he strode across the room with slightly longer legs than he was used to. He made it over to where their mirror hung, and inspected his new face. "No, _no. This can't_..." He mumbled as he ran his hands through his now smoother dark hair and across his nose, down his jawline.

Ginny stood awkwardly and rubbed her belly as Harry continued to inspect his new face, looking for _something_ that wasn't right, while Ron threw both of his hands over his eyes and groaned.

A long few minutes later, Harry stepped back over toward the couch. "I was so sure that this would work," he said quietly.

Ginny sighed while Ron sat up straight.

"Hold on," Ron started, quickly moving over to Harry. "What if… let me just -" Ron reached out and pulled Harry's left arm forward. He quickly forced his sleeve upward.

His shoulders slumped as he revealed a long, pale, _unmarked_ arm. " _Bollocks._ "

Harry pulled his arm back and inspected the other one, only to find another unmarked arm. He slumped and took a seat.

"So, maybe he's _not_ Voldemort after all," Ginny said, breaking the silence as she sat down in the space that Ron had previously occupied. "But that doesn't mean he's not working _with_ him, right?" she added optimistically. "Maybe Hermione and I were right all of those months ago. Maybe he _is_ just a relative."

Ron groaned again while Harry shook his head slightly. "Or, maybe he's... I don't know, done something to _permanently_ alter his appearance. Something at a deeper level… something that we just don't know about yet."

"What else are we meant to do?" Ron asked tiredly.

"It's definitely him. _I know it_ , it's got to be," Harry said, rubbing his temples with both hands. "We'll just... keep waiting, and keep watching. We'll keep an eye on Hermione, keep her safe as best we can," Harry continued decisively. "He'll slip up. He has to."

 

*

 

Hermione lay in her bed, feeling more restless than she had been at dinner, unable to sleep. Her own body was betraying her. It had very quickly become dependent to the rush that the magic gave her, and if her mind didn’t feel so _clouded_ , she might have been worried.

But all she could focus on was the _itch._

She threw her hands up, letting them fall back on the pillow by her head. She simply couldn't get _comfortable._

Though... perhaps magic wasn't the only thing that could scratch her itch? It had been more than two whole months since she had had any form of sexual activity, and in that sense, she was almost ready to _burst._ Surely that, in addition to the magic use, wasn't doing her any favours.

She had been reluctant to take thing into her own hands, but what other option was there? She felt _beyond_ uncomfortable being there, in his house, in his spare bedroom. But when there was a need, there was a need. So, she closed her eyes as her hand made its way underneath the waistband of her shorts, and imagined that she was back home, back when she was _happy_ , back when she was with _Ron._

Ron had always been so gentle, had always treated her so delicately. He was always considerate, always sure not to hurt her, always sure she was comfortable. _But was being hurt so bad?_ No, no, she had quite liked it when her sex life became a bit rougher. Her legs grew warmer as she couldn't help but think of the time when _he_ had pushed over the kitchen counter, large hands pushing their way up her thighs and under her skirt. She vividly remembered the way he groaned as he touched her, the way she had moaned _Ben_ -

 _No, no, mustn't think of that,_ Hermione told herself.

She forced herself back to _Ron,_ back to the feelings that _he_ had given her. Her favourite thing about her time with Ron was the way would kiss her neck, the way he would gently make his way down her back, stroking her as he did so. But, it had felt even better when _his_ soft lips ran their way up her torso stopping to bite her along the way. His mouth had tickled from the scratch of fresh stubble, and it gave her shivers to her _toes_. His large hands followed the lips, sliding upward to squeeze her breasts. Large, strong, _pale_ hands –

_No, no, no. Not that. Not him._

But as she started moving her fingers again, the memory of him had brought her so _close,_ that she couldn't help but think back to the time he had slammed her a bit too hard against the shower wall, and had hitched her legs up around his waist.

_The way he'd pulled her lip into his mouth with his teeth._

_The way he had moaned into her mouth as he pushed her into the wall repeatedly, and -_

She let out an involuntary sound as her itch was successfully scratched, quickly muffling herself with her pillow. She closed her eyes and relaxed into the bed, letting herself enjoy the feeling of coming down from her high. _It almost felt as good as the magic._

It didn't take her long to drift off to sleep after that, and she awoke the next morning feeling more rested than she had in _weeks_.

She had needed a bit of time to herself.

She crept out of the bedroom that morning quietly, heading for the bathroom for a quick shower before work. The bathroom wasn't far, only a few steps down the hall, although it was a few steps closer to _his_ room. Every time she dashed out to the bathroom, there was always that small bit of worry in case she ran into him along the way. Running into him was a rare occurrence, but alas, fate was not smiling upon her that morning.

She was only an arm's length away when the door further down the hall opened, and out stepped Voldemort. And he was only wearing his work slacks, his belt still undone _._

Her breath caught in her throat as she was immediately reminded of what she had gotten off to the night before. He met her eyes, his look of surprise quickly turning into a smirk.

"Good morning," he greeted gruffly, stepping down the hall in her direction.

"I – uh – morning," she squeaked awkwardly, before forcing the bathroom door open and retreating inside. She closed the door in a hurry and took a quick breath to calm herself.

_Christ. What had gotten into her?_

She took a long, cool shower, making sure to use up all of her morning's free time to avoid having breakfast with him. She finished getting ready upstairs, grateful that she hadn't run into him again, and by the time she was ready to go, her fluster from the morning was almost forgotten.

She hopped down the stairs happily, feeling refreshed and ready to begin another gruelling day at work. She stepped over to take her cloak from where it hung by the door at the same moment that Voldemort came out from the hall, moving over to the door. She didn't know why she was surprised. They had been leaving for work together for the last two months, after all. She turned toward the door to find him watching her, and immediately felt another flush of embarrassment.

"What?" she asked, a tad too defensively.

His lips twitched slightly before he shrugged. Without a word, he pulled the door open, and held it open for her, without moving himself out of the doorway.

With heated cheeks, she sent him a forced smile and slinked past him through the door. Her cheeks grew even warmer as she brushed past him, physically unable to make it through the space without her legs brushing against him.

She was sure he did it on purpose.

 

*

 

The next evening, Hermione sat on her bed turning the rainbow cardboard between her fingers. Ever since she had received her invitation for the wedding of Luna and Rolf, she had been putting off the inevitable. But, before she knew it, the RSVP date was upon her, and she had no other option than to face it head on.

She didn't want to invite him, really, she didn't, but what other choice did she have? She had been given a plus one, and there wasn't anyone else she could go with. Not to mention, she could already imagine the questions and the rumours she would receive if she went by herself. Not going wasn't an option either, so that only left going with him. Besides, it wasn't as if anyone knew he was Voldemort, so what was the harm? He behaved well enough at work, and it would certainly help her gain a little bit more trust, would it not?

She slowly made her way downstairs and entered the living room, hoping that if she pretended to be confident, that she'd eventually start to feel that way. She found Voldemort in his usual spot toward the corner, with a very large book written in a language that she didn't recognise.

She approached, stopping a few feet away and waited for him to look up. When he didn't immediately acknowledge her, she cleared her throat.

He moved his eyes up to look at her without moving his head.

"...yes?" He asked when she didn't speak.

"I have an invitation," she began, "to a wedding. It's one of my friends from school."

"...and?"

"And I've been given a plus-one."

He blinked. "Your point?"

"Are you -" she started, breaking off to calm her nerves a bit. "I thought I'd ask - will you come with me?"

His eyebrows shot up.

"Are you kidding?" He asked.

"No," she responded with a frown.

He laughed, and looked back down to his book. "In that case, no. I would much rather not."

She rolled her eyes, but still felt slightly relieved. "Fine," she said, folding her arms. "I'll bring someone else then,” she said determinedly, even though it was an empty threat.

He looked back up and narrowed his eyes. "You will do no such thing."

Her mouth popped open. "So, you don't want to come with me, but you don't want me to go with someone else either?"

Her stared for a moment. "Yes," he said at last.

"Well, too bad!" She protested, moving her hands to her hips. "You either come with me, or I'm going with someone else!"

"We have an image to maintain, you're either going alone or you're not going at all," he said, equally stubbornly.

"To hell with your image!" She protested with a stomp of her foot.

He sighed dramatically and closed his book.

"You're honestly trying to tell me, that you want me to accompany you to your friend's wedding?" He asked incredulously. " _Me?_ Have you bumped your head?"

"Well... 'want' is a strong word I suppose."

He scoffed.

"Everyone thinks we're a couple - couples attend weddings together. And Merlin knows, you've isolated me from everyone else. So, yes."

He rolled his eyes.

"Well, I don't want to go. I'd rather gouge my eyes out."

She huffed. "There will be wine," she tried.

"..."

"So... yes?"

"I'm not going," he repeated.

"And I'm not going alone!"

He quirked an eyebrow. "You can glare as much as you want, you're not going to change my mind," he said, looking back down to his book.

Her eyes narrowed further. "We'll see about that."

 

*

 

She rocked up to the wedding alone. She hadn't wanted to, but there simply wasn't another option. She couldn't not go. It was _Luna_.

But on the plus side, her patience had finally paid off and she had been given a completely Voldemort-free day. She had returned to her cottage on the morning of the wedding and gotten herself ready, and was planning on returning there afterwards for a peaceful night _alone_.

And it turned out to be a beautiful day. Even with Luna's awful puffy rainbow dress, and the glitter, and the shiny confetti, it was clear that she and Rolf loved each other.

_The way he looked at her when he first saw her in her dress. Their awkward, but loving vows. The way they smiled as they were declared husband and wife before their first kiss as a married couple._

Hermione’s heart panged as she clapped along with the rest of the attendees, watching the newlyweds grinning as they made their way back down the aisle as a married couple.

She'd never know a love like that again. Not while Voldemort was still alive.

After the ceremony, Hermione mopped up her tears with the tissues she had stuffed into her bag, and made her way to join Ginny and Harry, who she had spotted over by the dancefloor.

"Hermione!" Ginny greeted happily, her eyes quickly scanning around her. "You're here alone?" She asked as she pulled her into a light hug.

"Yeah," she said quickly. "Ben, he - he couldn't make it. Too busy at the moment, with work and all."

"Oh, well, that's okay, you can still have a good time with us," she chimed happily as Harry gave her a small smile. "I should warn you though, Ron's here. I think he's over by the bar."

"Oh. That's okay, I - I wouldn't mind seeing him again," she said. "And, is that George? And Angelina?"

"Sure is. And little Fred," Ginny said, referring to small toddler clinging to Angelina's dress. "Come on, let's get you a drink!"

Ginny ended up getting Hermione _many_ drinks, and she certainly wasn't in any kind of condition to stop her.

It was nice, catching up with so many familiar faces, many who she hadn’t seen in years. It, along with the alcohol, was a welcome distraction from the faint feeling of unease that was building up uncomfortably in her chest again. She caught up with George and Angelina, who she hadn’t seen in a solid few months. She had another _painfully_ awkward conversation with Ron. She even caught up with Professor Flitwick, who, like her, had taken advantage of the free champagne.

But, as nice as it was, everyone she spoke to seemed to have the same question. _Where was Ben?_

After waving goodbye to Seamus Finnigan and his wife, Ginny caught onto the slight eyeroll that Hermione was unable to restrain.

“I hate to pry, but,” Ginny started gently, "how _are_ things with Ben anyway? You’ve hardly told me anything about him, and you've been together, what, three, four months now?"

"Uh, yeah, that's right," she said uncertainly. "Things are good."

"'Good'?" Ginny prodded. "Just, 'good'?"

She nodded and hummed a non-committal, "mhmm."

"That doesn't _sound_ good!" Ginny protested. "And he's just let you come here on your own?"

Hermione let out an impatient noise as she finished her current glass of wine. "I don't know what you want me to say. I mean, _yes,_ I would have _liked_ to not come alone, but it's fine. He's busy, and we're fine," she stated on wobbly feet as she _prayed_ for the conversation to end.

Ginny stared with narrowed eyes, seeing right through her words. "You know, you can talk to me," Ginny said, as she took Hermione’s elbow and directed her away from the crowd and around to the quiet front of the venue. “We may not see each other very often, but you’re still my best friend. I know when something’s not right. Maybe someone to confide in is what you need.”

She sighed as she took a seat on the retaining wall of the front garden. "I just -" she started before shaking her head. How did Ginny _do_ that, just know when something was up?

But… maybe was right. Maybe it _would_ do her a world of good to get some of her worries off of her chest. She certainly couldn’t afford to lose any more friends, and besides, she didn't have to tell her the _whole_ truth. She could lie a little bit.

 _She needed_ someone _to talk to. She needed to feel normal again._

"He just -" she tried to start again, unsure of how explain herself in a way that was true, while also not breaking the conditions of the vow. "I don't think he - I mean, _marriage_ isn't exactly his thing, and I can't help but think -"

"That this is it for you?"

" _Yes_. I - I mean, it just makes me wonder - _hic_ \- what I'm doing. What if I've just made a huge mistake? What if - _hic_ \- Ron was it? And I’ve just let it go, with unfair expectations, thinking that it should have been something more?"

"Yeah," Ginny said as she rubbed her back. “But you know, marriage isn’t everything. You can have a perfectly happy relationship without being married.”

“Yeah, I know. But I just don't want - _hic_ \- to be unsure. I don’t want to regret. And he - he just puts work first, which, is good right _now_ , but in the future, I don’t know. It can be - _hic_ \- a bit lonely, I guess. I don’t want to be _with_ someone, but also _without_ them, you know? I don’t want to be alone."

Ginny sighed and rested her head on Hermione’s shoulder.

“Even if things don't work out with Ben, you won't be _alone_ ,” Ginny said softly after a moment. “You'll always have us. Harry too, even though sometimes he's too pigheaded for you to see it."

Hermione smiled sadly. "Thank you. You have no idea how much that means to me.”

"And if you're ever unhappy, you can always, you know, _leave_."

She shook her head. “It’s not that simple.”

“Of course it is!”

"No, I mean - ah, never mind."

"No!" Ginny protested. "If something's wrong, you shouldn't just go along with it! You can't just be stuck in an unhappy relationship. Is it because you work together? Is that why you don’t think you can leave?"

"I - yeah," Hermione agreed quickly. “He’s a career person, and _I’m_ a career person, in the same Department, of the same field, no less… we’re sort of stuck together, even if things don’t - _hic_ \- work out,” she said with a laugh.

"Have you spoken to him about it? Like, really _spoken_? Harry and I have that problem. We talk, yeah, but sometimes he just doesn't take it in, and he doesn't realise when things are big problems for me until I sit him down, and _make_ him understand."

"I -" she started, before stopping as she thought.

Maybe Ginny was, once again, right. Maybe she would feel better after talking about it. Maybe she _would_ make him sit down and listen. Suddenly, in her alcohol-induced state, it seemed like a marvellous idea. He was treating her like an _object_ , not like a _person_. It wasn't fair, and he needed to know that.

_He could be fair sometimes, right?_

"You know - _hic -_ maybe you're right!"

"Of course I am."

"Yeah," she said, pushing herself to her feet. She wobbled and clutched onto the side of the retaining wall for support. "Yeah."

Ginny stood with her. "Wait… you're not going _now_ , are you?"

"Of course! How else is he gonna know?"

"I think you should call it a night, Hermione. See him tomorrow if you feel the same. You've had a bit to drink, and if you go, you might say something you regret -"

"Where's my bag?" Hermione asked, ignoring Ginny as she looked around for it.

"Not to mention, you can't apparate in this state."

"Don't be silly," she said with a grin, picking up her bag from where she had put it down on the lawn. "Thanks for your - _hic_ \- help."

She reached out for Ginny and pulled her into a hug.

"Seriously, Hermione, go tomorrow," Ginny insisted.

"I'll see you later, alright?"

"Hermione -"

“Give my best to Luna and Rolf.”

“Please -”

And with a pop, she was gone.

 

*

 

With raw determination in her eyes, Hermione confidently strode up to the large black door, and knocked loudly. A couple of minutes passed, and Hermione raised her fist to knock again. Before it had the chance to collide with the door however, it swung open.

"What the _bloody_ -" He broke off to sigh. "Hermione?"

"I'm coming in," she said at once and pushed passed him into the house.

He closed the door behind him, looking at her curiously. He looked awake, but the state of his hair told her that he'd been in bed when she knocked.

"What are you doing here?" he questioned with a cocked eyebrow.

"I -" she pointed a finger towards him, ready to make a point, "I wanted to talk to you."

"In the middle of the night?"

" _Hic_ \- yes," she managed.

"You're drunk," he deduced with an irritated roll of his eyes.

"I'm not _drunk_ , I'm just - _hic_ \- a little bit buzzed," she insisted.

"What are you doing here, Hermione?" He tried again. "I didn't think you would choose to come back."

"I _told_ you, I need to talk to you."

He scoffed. "Go on then."

"You - you have been, a _complete_ arse - and I - _hic_ -"

He bared his teeth in a breath of laughter. "You came all the way back here just to wake me up and insult me?"

"I - well I suppose, when you put it like that…" she responded, suddenly feeling her confidence slip away.

He laughed louder.

She narrowed her eyes. "Stop laughing!" She demanded. "This is serious!"

"My apologies," he conceded with another chuckle. "Please, by all means, go on."

"How you've been treating me... it's unfair!" She declared, wobbling slightly. "I can't - _hic_ \- be with you, but I can't be with anyone else either! And that's not how this works! I can't spend my life alone, just because _you_ don't want me to be with anyone else. I'm - _hic_ \- not your _property_! I'm a _person_ , with _feelings_ , and I'm sorry that you're not! But this - it's - _hic_ \- "

"Hermione -"

"- it's inhumane!" She finished. "I promised not to tell anyone anything for my family, and - and my friends. I didn't promise to be your... _object_."

She folded her arms over and looked at him expectantly.

"Are you quite done?" He asked with a quirked eyebrow, taking a step closer. She raised her chin defiantly. "Now, why don't you come upstairs with me? You look tired," he said smoothly, taking her hand in his. "We can discuss your points comfortably."

"I - what? No, I'm not going any-"

"Shh," he hushed and pulled her in the direction of the stairs. Not having the energy to protest, Hermione allowed herself to go with him. She fumbled a few times on the way up, but with his help, she managed to make it to the landing without falling.

"No," she protested, seeing that he was directing her to the spare bedroom.

He looked thoughtful for a moment before he shrugged and pulled her further down the hallway, toward his bedroom.

"So," he started as he gently pushed her through the doorway to his bedroom, "what _really_ brings you here?"

She stopped over by the bed and spun back to face him. "I told you."

"And I don't believe for a second that that's all," he said as he closed door behind him and moved across the room. He took her by the arm and pulled her over to the bed, sitting her on the side that she had been used to sleeping in.

"I know you, and you are far too logical to come over at this hour just to berate me," he stated, sitting beside her.

She focused down on her shoes, suddenly feeling very stupid. _What was she thinking? Coming here, back into this house?_

"You can tell me," he said softly, raising a hand to brush her hair back. "You don't have to be embarrassed."

She looked away, gripping a patch of his silk sheets between her fingertips.

He tilted her face back up, forcing her to look back at him. She felt an odd rush of blood to her cheeks, seeing that he still didn't look any different, _still_ didn’t look Voldemort. His eyes still looked just as warm, his touch still just as inviting, as what she remembered.

'I can be him if you want me to,' he had said. And oh, how she suddenly wanted him to be.

"I just - hmm -" she managed to sound out softly. She wanted to forget, needed to forget the truth. She wanted to be happy, to be in _love_ , the way that Luna and Rolf so obviously were. She wanted _Ben_ , the man she had fallen in love with, just once more.

_And once more surely wouldn't hurt, would it?_

She shifted closer, so that their legs were touching. It didn’t take him long until he seemed to realise what she was doing, and reached out to take her hands, stopping her from gripping at his shirt.

He breathed a breath of laughter, and shook his head slightly. "You're drunk."

"Please," she asked, trying to free her hands.

"That would be taking advantage of you."

"Not if I take advantage of you first," she managed to free one of her hands out from his grip, and reached forward to pull him closer by the neck of his shirt, bringing his lips down to hers.

He pulled back almost immediately.

"Hermione -"

"Please."

"You're not in any -"

"Come on."

"No, not like this -"

"What do you mean?"

"I want you to want this, really."

"I do," she insisted, tugging on his shirt again. "I do want this."

She slipped a hand underneath the hem of his shirt and felt the smooth skin of his torso. _He was so warm._

He took in a quick breath as he wriggled himself away from her slightly, putting enough room between them for him to pull her hand out from his shirt.

" _Please,_ " she tried again.

" _Merlin_ , Hermione -"

He firmly took hold of both of her hands once more. She tried to pull them free for a moment before seeing her opportunity. With his hands busy, she had a clear shot.

Before he knew what she was doing, she pushed forward, and once again met his lips with her own.

He made a sound of protest, and finally let go of her hands, moving his to take her by the waist, and pulled her away again.

She met his eyes as he pulled back. "Please?"

He hesitated.

She took her chance again, closing the distance between them once more. For a moment he didn't respond, but he didn't pull away again either.

She pushed herself closer, pushing her chest flush against his. She was rewarded as his grip on her waist tightened as his willpower finally broke, and he _finally_ began to kiss her back. She smiled against his mouth as he pulled her closer, and allowed her to push him down to lay on the bed beneath her.

Feeling the passion rise between them that she had been missing so desperately, Hermione allowed herself to forget just who it was that she was in bed with.

 

*

 

Hermione woke the next morning with a pounding headache and ridiculously dry mouth. She opened her eyes to see a small patch of sunlight peeping through the middle of the curtains, and it was spinning. She groaned and brought her arm up to shield her face from the light.

She turned over away from the window, and felt her discomfort slightly soothed by the feeling of the silky sheets move against her naked body.

Wait... silk? _Naked?_

Hermione's eyes shot open again and she forced herself to face the spinning and sit up. She drew a short breath as she took in the familiar surroundings of his bedroom.

Oh no. Oh no, no, no.

Buggering _shit._

She pushed through her building nausea and forced herself out of the bed swiftly, gathering her clothing in her arms. She quickly dressed, comforted by the fact that at least she had woken up alone. She breathed deeply, almost hyperventilating as she threw on her shoes and headed for the door.

 _What had she done?_ Well, that much seemed abundantly clear, but _what had she been thinking?_

 _Gods, why hadn’t she been_ thinking?

She slowly crept down the stairs, making an effort not to make any sound. Upon reaching the ground floor, she let out a small sigh of relief and tip-toed for the front door. She outstretched her arm, reaching for the doorknob, and -

"You're off early."

Hermione jumped almost a foot in the air as his voice echoed from the dining room. She spun around, seeing him leaning against the door frame, in nothing but a pair of loose-fitting jeans.

"I - I have somewhere I need to be," she stumbled.

"Liar," he smirked.

Her eyes shot downwards, following the line of hair down his torso to the hem of his pants. Her face heated up. Why did someone so awful have to be so awfully gorgeous?

"Would you like to go again?" He asked, his smirk widening.

Hermione's eyes shot back up.

"No! I'm leaving!" She huffed and reached back out for the door handle. She twisted and pulled, but quickly frowned again as the door slammed shut again. She turned back around, finding that he had moved directly behind her and that his arm was reaching over her shoulder, holding the door shut.

"Are you sure you want to?" He purred.

"I - yes," she forced out, his proximity making her hairs stand on end. She extended an arm and tried to push him back from the door. "Now if you don't mind."

He brought his other hand up and stroked the side of her cheek with his fingertips, looking down at her intently. She swatted his hand away.

"No - whatever happened last night, was a mistake. A mistake, that won't be happening again," she said determinedly with a pointed finger, attempting to pull away.

She couldn't help but notice how familiar her words sounded.

"You don't remember?" He questioned softly, his damn smirk still present. "I'd be happy to jog your memory, you did seem to quite enjoy yourself."

She flushed with embarrassment, and frowned.

"You don't remember begging for it? You don't remember how you _screamed my name?_ "

"Stop," she demanded.

"Hmm," he hummed, pushing back off of the door. "Suit yourself."

Letting out a deep breath, Hermione pulled open the door to freedom and all but ran out.

After apparating back to her cottage, she bolted upstairs and immediately hopped in the shower and scrubbed. She scrubbed and scrubbed, but no amount of scrubbing made her feel _clean._  

She stood with her head leaning on the cool tiles with the water running down her back, gently hitting her forehead on the solid tile.

Surely this was the worst thing she'd ever done. She'd slept with a monster, knowing full well who he was. Sure, she _had_ been quite drunk, but that excused nothing. She had justified it to herself before, when she didn't know who he truly was, but now there were no excuses left.

 _Merlin, what was happening to her?_ Hungover or no, surely this amount of brain fog wasn’t right. This impairment of her judgement _couldn’t_ be right.

 _It’s just the magic,_ she told herself. _It has to be. You knew the side effects before you started, you signed up for this. Just remember why you’re doing this._

She let out a loud groan that echoed against the tiles a some of the hazy memories of the night before started to come back to her. The way she'd hastily pulled his clothes off. The way he'd looked at her when she pushed him back, while she was on top of him. The way he'd felt inside of her after so long.

The way he'd moaned... her abdomen clenched just thinking about it.

She brought her head back and hit it harder against the wall.

What the absolute fuck, Hermione?


	17. Red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again! I thought I would take a moment to explain. This chapter and the previous, were originally together as one huuge chapter. But I felt too much happened, and it was cluttered and confusing, so I split them in two, which is why this one is a smaller one. As such, I decided to upload them closely together, in the hopes that you'll all read them together. Because, much like Tom and Hermione, I really think they go together ;)
> 
> You're welcome :)

After her shower, Hermione stood, naked as the day she was born, staring angrily at herself in her mirror. She couldn't take her eyes off of the huge hickeys on her neck and her right breast. She wasn't fooled, she saw them for what they were - he had marked her. She was still just a possession.

She reached out for her wand and began working on healing them, eager to get rid of the reminders of what she had done.

She decided not to go back to his place that day. If he wanted her back, he would come and get her. He had promised her a day to herself after all, and she would be _damned_ if she were giving it up so easily.

It didn't take her long to clear out all of the dust from her unlived in cottage, and once it was done, she couldn't help but feel a stab of guilt for Ron. She hadn't even been staying there, and Ron was left to live with his brother.

But, surely he'd soon allow her to live on her own again soon? He had said that she would stay with him until he could trust her. Maybe sleeping with him would have given him that last bit of trust he was waiting for. _Maybe_ something _good would come of it._

The day to herself felt like it was exactly what she needed. She made a mess with her cooking, without feeling the urgent need to clean it up. She sung as she made her way around. She could dress with the door open without fear for who might see. She slept without fear of who was down the hall.

But it was over all too quickly, and she soon found herself in the Ministry's elevators once again, dreading the day ahead.

She certainly didn't hurry to their office and upon reaching it, she gave her eyes a good roll, bracing herself for his gloating, before pushing inside.

But he wasn't there, and she almost danced. Without a care for where he might have been, she hurried over to her desk with a grin, and happily got to work in peace. She put her feet up on a conjured chair and relaxed as she read through the reports that needed finishing.

She had two more hours to herself before he came in. Two happy, quiet, _blissful_ , hours.

As he disturbed her solitude, she was in the middle of looking through the bookcase for a particular wizarding law book to help with the report she was polishing off. She ceased her whistling as he entered, though she didn't turn to greet him, keeping her eyes firmly on the bookshelf.

"What are you doing?" He asked as he closed the door behind him.

"Working," she said without a look in his direction.

He hummed and stepped over to his desk, a few feet away from her.

"How are you feeling?" His voice suddenly sounded much closer than it had been the first time he spoke.

"Fine. Not like you care," she added for good measure, reaching out to pluck her desired book off of the shelf.

" _Au contraire_ ," he said smoothly, as he brought his hands up to rest on her shoulders. "I care very much."

She hurriedly pulled away. "Don't."

He smiled. "You didn't mind the other day."

"I wasn't in my right mind the other day," she snapped.

"No need to be so defensive," he said coolly, as he stepped back and threw himself into his chair. "It was a mutually beneficial evening. It's okay to admit that. It's just sex."

She sent him an icy glare before stepping back toward her desk.

"Will you come back tonight?"

She blinked. "Oh, I have a choice now, do I?"

"You said it yourself; you are not my prisoner."

She let out a small bark of laughter. "In that case, _no_ , I most certainly will _not_ be coming back," she decided.

"Fine by me. You are free to do as you wish," he said in an unbothered tone, pulling a large file open from the top of the stack of papers on his desk. "If you think you're done with our lessons, that is."

She stopped in her tracks.

"What is that supposed to mean?" She asked, turning on her heels with narrowed eyes.

"If you think you're able to master Fiendfyre on your own, be my guest," he said with a shrug.

"Are - are you saying that if I don't stay with you, you'll stop teaching me?" She demanded, stepping back over to his desk.

" _I_ didn't say that."

"That's _extortion!_ "

"Are you going to tell on me?" He asked mockingly, as he leaned back into his chair.

She could feel her cheeks heating up in anger.

"I'll see you tonight then, shall I?" He asked with a smug smile, focusing back on his reports.

She opened her mouth to snap at him, before stopping herself.

 _Control your anger, control your anger. You_ must _control your anger. You_ must _let him think he's in control. He will_ not _get to you._

She refused to acknowledge the budding feeling of anticipation for the magic in her chest.

*

A few days later, on the other side of the second floor of the Ministry of Magic, Harry Potter almost jumped for joy.

"You're an absolute _gem,_ Vane, I could _kiss_ you," Harry said as he stared at the parchment in his hands.

He hurried past the other Auror out into the hall, almost skipping as he did so. He strode down the corridor, heading directly for the Head of Department's office. He didn't knock as he reached the wooden door, and entered into the office confidently, poking his head around to see if Hermione was at her desk. Seeing her side of the office empty, he approached his boss.

"Here. I thought you'd like to see this," he said smugly, handing over the parchment.

Voldemort watched him with an odd expression, as if he was trying quite hard to keep a blank face while also very curious about the letter clutched in his hand. He quickly took the parchment, flicked it open and scanned the document.

If he had been surprised by the contents of the letter, he certainly didn't show it.

"And why, exactly, would I be interested in this?" He asked, peering up from the letter.

"Oh, no particular reason," Harry said happily. "It might relate to the _Voldemort_ case, is all."

"Yes, thank you," Voldemort said stiffly, putting the letter aside and looking back to his reports.

"Well, have a nice afternoon," Harry said cheerily a with a smug smile, and left him sitting alone in his office.

Harry didn't see the way the vein throbbed on his boss' forehead.

*

 _Everything was red. Everything was red, and he couldn't see. He couldn't see anything except for that_ fucking _boy's smug face, and his smug smile, and his smug words._

The glass he was holding smashed in his grip, the shards falling on the pristine white counter top of his kitchen. He dropped the remnants and turned his hand over, inspecting the damage. Thick blood had started to ooze out of his hand where the glass had pierced his skin.

He squeezed his hand shut and cocked his head to the side, watching as the blood dripped down, the counter now _red_ , too.

He laughed an oddly high laugh that didn't suit him.

 _Potter would also be red, once he was through with him. Or better yet, once_ she _was through with him._

 _She, so much like him. She would see sense. She would see_ reason _. She would learn the way that he did, she would become what he had become, and when she did, she would be beautiful._

 _And red_.

*

On Monday night, they had spent _hours_ in the backyard practicing. Once they had gotten started, and she managed to conjure her first bit of Fiendfyre, all of her previous grievances with him were hastily forgotten. Fiendfyre was in a whole different _league_ to anything he had taught her before. As soon as she cast it for the first time, that much had been clear. It gave her a head rush like nothing else before it had, a rush that was _still_ lingering two days after the fact.

It was so good, that she didn't even feel disappointed that she couldn't control it on her own. Voldemort had used curse words that she wasn't even sure she had heard before as he had stepped in to control the blaze for her, to prevent it from burning the entire property down.

He had warned her on numerous occasions that Fiendfyre was not to be taken lightly, that Fiendfyre was one of the ultimate tests of control. A test, that he hadn't held back from informing her, she had _failed._

_But that hardly mattered. Not when casting it had felt so good._

He had broken their routine of leaving work together that Wednesday, and had been gone from the office before five o'clock. Normally she would have thought it strange, but she simply couldn't _focus. And it was blissful._

She happily entered the house again that afternoon, with high hopes that she could convince him into an extra practice session that week. Hearing the tap running from the kitchen, she hurried through the house.

"You know, I was really hoping that we could start spending some time working with potions," Hermione announced happily as she almost bounded into the kitchen. "There are a few that I've been reading about, and I'm just _dying_ to -" she broke off, seeing the mess that was the kitchen counter.

"What - what happened in here?" She asked timidly, eyeing the bloody mess before looking up to see Voldemort hunched over the sink.

Voldemort was scrubbing at his hands feverishly under the tap, his shoulders almost _shaking_ from his heavy breathing.

She hesitantly stepped closer. "Are you alright?"

At her words, he suddenly turned the faucets off, and slammed his hands back down on the edge of the sink.

"Go to the living room," he instructed quietly, so quietly that she needed to strain to hear him.

"Do you need hel -"

" _I SAID_ -" he started in a yell, "- go to the living room," he finished quietly again, as he turned away from the sink.

Not needing to be told a third time, Hermione bit her tongue, kept her eyes down and bee-lined for the living room. She stiffly sat down on the couch, and looked back toward the kitchen hesitantly. He hadn't followed. Just as she was wondering whether he _would_ follow, her thoughts were answered by the soft sound of his footsteps ascending the stairs.

She sat in silence for a few minutes, wondering what on _earth_ had gotten him so worked up, when her thoughts were shaken off by a loud knock on the front door. She sat up straight, and thought about answering it, before she decided not to. He had, _firmly_ , instructed her to go to the living room, so that was where she would stay.

However, the knocking grew more urgent a minute later, and she heard no sounds from upstairs.

With a sigh, she pushed herself up and hurried over to the entrance way. She quickly looked up the stairwell to see if he were headed her way. Seeing that he wasn't, she pulled the heavy door open to reveal a rather odd looking blonde woman clutching a bag full of cleaning goods.

"Can I help you -" she started to ask, but at the same time was cut off as she pushed her way through into the house.

"Hey! _Excuse me,_ just what do you think you're -"

Once the woman was inside the house and the door was safely closed, her hair began to shoot into the back of her skull while her facial features began to blur. She grew taller, and slightly more round around the middle. Slowly, her features straightened out, and no longer was a blonde woman standing in front of her.

Florian Evrard was.

He gave her an icy glare before he passed through into the living room. Hermione stood with her eyes wide, gaping after him.

 _A glamour, and a cleaning lady. That's all it had taken to fool the Ministry of Magic._ She scoffed as she shook off her initial surprise, and internally swore that if _she_ were ever in charge, she would definitely be improving the quality of their background checks. 

Hermione shook her head, and followed through into the living room, retaking her seat on the couch when she got there. Florian stood in front of the fireplace, watching the stale, burnt-out logs intently.

Apparently, Florian already knew this routine.

The minutes passed in a painful silence, neither willing to address the other.

The silence was finally broken when the sound of a door slamming shut echoed from upstairs, and both Hermione and Florian stiffened. Florian hurriedly stepped over and took a seat next to her on the couch, leaving a polite amount of space between them.

Shortly after, Voldemort strode into the room. He glanced at them for a quick moment, before he began pacing. Hermione glanced over to Florian, seeing him tightening his jaw. _Perhaps he was used to seeing his master's mood swings._

Voldemort suddenly stopped, drawing her attention back up. He brought his hand up and held the bridge of his nose for a moment, and let out a long sigh, before starting to pace again.

"M-my Lord," Florian began quietly.

Voldemort halted at the sound of his voice.

"Allow me to -" Florian stopped talking as Voldemort raised a twitching hand, gesturing for him to be quiet.

Slowly he moved, running a hand through his hair as he let out a shaky breath. "Rosier..." he started in an eerily calm voice. "His sentence has been extended."

"But, surely, My Lord, _you_ could fix -"

" _IT DOESN'T WORK THAT WAY!"_ He suddenly bellowed, turning to glare toward Florian for a moment before starting to pace again, his fingers twitching. His eyes had been wide, manic, and for the first time in over a month, Hermione felt truly scared.

"It's _Potter_ ," he spat in a lower voice. "He's got his nose where it doesn't belong, _yet again. Always him, always there_ , breathing down my neck..."

Hermione felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up at the sound of Harry's name.

"Would you like us to... _handle_ it, My Lord?"

Voldemort's eyes snapped back to Florian's with a look that could kill. " _I do not want him_ dead, _Florian! Or are you so thick that you do not remember the last time I told you?!_ "

Hermione felt the couch move as Florian shook.

"O-of course not, My Lord, my apologies. P-perhaps, then, a message, instead?" Florian stammered.

Voldemort sniffed.

"We could, have a bit of... _fun_ with him," Florian explained. "Aldridge desperately wishes to prove himself. Perhaps... this might be his chance?"

Voldemort's scowl quickly turned to a smile.

"Yes," he agreed thoughtfully, raising a large hand to run over the stubble of his cheek. " _Yes._ Perhaps he needs a reminder of what _pain_ truly is."

"No!" Hermione protested out of instinct.

Both Voldemort and Florian turned to look at her, one angrily, and the other silently questioning if she were sane.

 _Not Harry. They would_ not _hurt Harry. Over her dead body._

She had to do something, and now was her only chance. Months of building his trust had to pay off sometime, and now would be the time to test it. But how did one reason with Lord Voldemort? It had not worked in the past, many had tried to protect their loved ones and failed. He had not changed his mind for _Snape_ , so why would he change his mind for _her?_

However... this was not _truly_ Voldemort she was dealing with, she reminded herself. This was, for all intents and purposes, _Tom Riddle._ A man with a complete _soul._ Harry's memory had certainly proved that there were differences between him and a Tom Riddle who had split his soul twice. And while there was no doubt that he was completely insane, he could still be reasoned with, could see logic in a way that _Voldemort_ could not. And so, with a deep breath, she rose from the couch and stepped over to join him on the other side of the room.

"Don't you think -" she started as she slowly stepped closer, putting all her effort into closing her mind, "- it would be more... _prudent_ , to... simply leave him be?" She questioned, placing her hand lightly on his forearm. She felt his arm twitch beneath her fingers.

His eyes snapped downward to glance at her hand before he looked back up, his expression growing colder.

" _Potter_ -" she started, using his preferred name for Harry, "- is already convinced of your identity. If you give him anything, anything at _all_ , it will only encourage him that he is on the right track.

"You don't need Rosier. In fact, you're better off _without_ Rosier. He is far too high profile, and this, without doubt, is a blessing in disguise. Surely, _you_ can convince Dolohov yourself? There could be no one better for the task," she finished in a whisper.

He stared down at her with narrowed eyes, the tension in the room thick, as he considered her words.

"I know what you're doing," he drawled at last, his jaw tensing as he pondered.

She stayed silent and slowly slid her hand down his forearm to brush her fingertips on the back of his hand. She met his eyes again as their skin touched, and she found that he was no longer scowling.

He licked his bottom lip.

"Florian," he said loudly, finally breaking their eye contact to question the other man. "Do you have Dolohov's address?"

Florian quickly closed his gaping mouth, and shifted on the couch, pulling out his wallet from one of his pockets. He sifted through it for a moment before drawing out a small, folded piece of parchment. Voldemort extended a hand and the parchment flew out to meet it.

" _Fuck_ Rosier," he murmured, taking a moment to read the parchment before tucking it in his pocket. "I'll sort this out myself."

He pulled his hand back from under Hermione's and headed out of the room, stopping in the doorway.

"Do not touch Potter," he instructed to Florian with a pointed finger. With that, he exited the room, the sound of the front door closing echoed through the hall, leaving Hermione alone with Florian.

She let out a long breath that she hadn't realised she had been holding.

_It had worked._

_It really_ worked.

Taking that as his cue to leave, Florian sighed and followed in the same direction as his master, heading for the front door. As he went to pass her, however, he stopped.

"I don't know what he sees in you," he said quietly. "But his interest will fade. It always does."

*

He stood at the large wooden door to the house supposedly belonging to Athena Dolohov. He stared up at the dark sky, cursing the situation he currently found himself in, trying to ignore the painful throb of rage still present in his neck.

His thoughts lingered on his bushy-haired roommate.

Hermione - _Granger_ , rather, was becoming far too big for her boots.

_But how well it suited her._

His attention was drawn back to the house as the door swung open, and a small woman wrapped in a headscarf poked her head out.

"Ms. Dolohov?"

"Yes?"

"My name is Ben Jenkins, I'm with the Department of Magical Law -"

"I know who you are. You're in the papers every other day. You wrote to me."

"Yes," he agreed, clearing his throat. "that's right. We have a few follow up questions, however, and I was hoping that -"

"No," she interrupted. "I've helped you enough."

He took a deep breath in a bid to hold his temper.

"Ms. Dolohov - may I call you Athena?"

"Ms. Dolohov is fine," she said shortly.

"I'm sure that you can understand how serious an investigation this is," he started.

"And _I'm_ sure that you can understand how dangerous it is that I be seen speaking with you," she snapped. "So, if you don't mind," she added, starting to close the door.

Voldemort shot his hand out and stuck it between the door and the frame.

"Ms. Dolohov," he began in a low voice. "As I'm sure you're well aware, being an accessory to murder is a _crime_ , and can earn you up to a life sentence in Azkaban. Now, I might be willing to look the other way about Sullivan Fawley if you _cooperate_."

She hesitated.

"I don't know what you're taking about," she said quickly, attempting to close the door again.

He stopped the door from slamming closed onto his hand with his foot.

"He was poisoned, with a potion of unknown origin," he continued, his voice becoming more urgent. "One that could have only been brewed by someone proficient in the field. Now, I do find it rather curious that _you,_ Ms. Dolohov, not only attended school in the same year as Mr. Fawley, but also have a record with an outstanding potions N.E.W.T score and a job history in alchemy to match. Furthermore, your romance with our apprehended suspect Mr. Deverill is not a well-kept secret to those who know where to look."

Her jaw tightened as she loosened her hold on the door.

"How can I help you?"

Dolohov did not disappoint. Try as he might, he simply could not get the woman to not provide any information on Florian. She had been in contact with the man for months, and from what he had heard, didn't care for him in the slightest.

Yet, she still wasn't speaking.

_Good._

"Once again, thank you for your time," he said, after a long twenty minutes in her presence. He flashed his teeth in a grin, and stepped out of the small townhouse.

She nodded and took a small step back inside.

"Oh, and Athena?" he called back to her as she went to close the door, deciding that she had passed his test.

She turned back, stiffening at his use of her first name.

"You have access to Antonin's old school books, yes? I think you'll find page eighty-four of the 1945 year book to be of some interest," he said before stepping down her front steps. "Have a lovely evening."

*

 _Fucking Ministry,_ she thought to herself bitterly once she had slammed her door shut. _Help them once, and they think they own you._

She stomped up her stairs toward her attic, where most of her inherited belongings were kept. She rolled her eyes as she swatted away a large spider web in the doorway. She couldn't even remember the last time she went into the attic.

She weaved her way through the clutter over to her uncle's large pile of old boxes, unsure of where to start. Knowing her uncle, he wouldn't have had the sense to organise his belongings. She began sifting through the one on top, finding it filled with an array of loose parchments, old quills, small jars of obscure potions ingredients that may come in handy later.

_Perhaps Will would need her help again, once he was released._

Her expression soured as she dug her way through, finding the box less and less organised the deeper she went.

_Why in Merlin's name did he bother packing away his old school socks?!_

She growled at the box before giving up.

" _Accio year-books!_ "

Five old books in a pile shot out from a large box to her left and flung themselves toward her, landing in her arms.

She huffed as she plucked the 1945 copy out from the bottom of the pile and dumped the rest back into the box from which they came. She stomped her way back downstairs and sat herself down on her couch. She hurriedly flicked through the pages, finding eighty-four. And on it was...

A group photo. Of _schoolboys._

She scowled as she scanned the page for something of any use to her. What an earth was he playing at? Why would she be _remotely_ interested in a bunch of -

Her eye caught on the old image of her uncle in uniform. Even decades on, she could still point him out by his large nose. She looked among the students around him, and caught her breath upon seeing the boy in the middle. One of the tallest in the group, he had a head boy badge buttoned on the front of his robe, with short, wavy, black hair.

His face, his eyes... he looked... very _familiar._ Like a younger version of the man who had just left her house.

She scanned the page, quickly finding the legend placed underneath the photo.

_Antonin Dolohov, Jonathan Rosier, Tom Riddle -_

Athena gasped as the book fell from her hands.

_Tom Riddle, Head Boy._


	18. A Lesson with an Audience

Over the next week, Hermione continuously caught him _staring._ From across the office. From across the kitchen. In their weekly departmental meeting. In the staff break room. From across the living room. And it wasn't just _normal_ staring, either. It wasn't the stare you'd give a lover, nor was it the type of stare you'd give an enemy.

It was a thoughtful stare. A _scheming_ stare.

" _What?_ " She eventually snapped that Sunday morning, after looking up from her cereal to find him staring yet again from across the table.

He shrugged and looked back down at his book innocently.

She dropped her spoon in her bowl angrily. "No, what is it?" She insisted.

He shrugged again. "Nothing."

"It's not nothing. You're doing that - that _thing_ with your jaw," she said with a quick gesture. "You only do it when you're thinking overly hard, or if you want something."

His eyebrows rose ever so slightly. "What _thing?_ "

"It makes you look like you're in pain."

"There is no _thing_."

"If you say so," she said tartly, picking up her spoon to take another mouthful.

He rolled his eyes and sipped his coffee, before glancing back down the large book. After a few minutes of Hermione's crunching echoing through the room, he made a soft sound of defeat.

"I've organised a meeting for next week," he announced at last.

"Oh?" She sounded, still focusing on her cereal.

"I'd like you to come with me."

"There it is," she murmured to herself happily, giving him her full attention once more.

"I need you on your best behaviour. There will be a sizeable number of people who wouldn't mind you dead in attendance," he explained. "Best if you stay quiet."

"Why do you want me there then?"

"Consider it another lesson."

She nodded, feeling a small amount of triumph. Another meeting. A _real_ meeting. A number of people, he had said. That had to mean more than just Florian, surely.

_She was actually getting somewhere._

"I suppose I can be there then," she said primly. "If you insist."

He nodded and went back to reading, failing to notice Hermione's poor efforts at restraining her grin.

The next day marked the first of September. Every year, Hermione welcomed the nostalgia by popping into the Ministry's cafe to purchase a chocolate frog, and this year was certainly no exception. She even thought about purchasing two, considering the horrendous year she'd had thus far.

What she would have given to join the students and go back to Hogwarts, to go back to a simple time, with simple tasks and simple pleasures.

She bit into her caught frog as she entered the lift, and let out a soft sigh as she tasted the sweet chocolate. Her life had become a complete disaster, but at least she still had chocolate.

She finished her frog in a large bite and stepped out of the lift once it chimed. She didn't make it far down the hall, however, before being distracted by a loud thumping that echoed out of the Auror office. With a mild flash of concern for Harry, she stepped over and poked her head in the door.

"What are you all up to?" She asked, finding the office to be full of three men along with the receptionist, Janice, levitating boxes, moving desks, and sifting through report files.

"Cleaning out the office for tomorrow's meeting with the Malfoys," Euan said, while relocating a stack of four sizeable boxes.

"The Malfoys?"

"It's their release date tomorrow," he explained, weaving past Harry who was in the middle of moving his own desk.

Her eyes snapped to Voldemort who stood in the corner, who maintained a perfectly blank expression.

"Oh," she managed, feeling like it explained a lot about yesterday. No wonder he had wanted a meeting, with one of his longest serving followers being released. "And it takes all four of you to do this?"

"There are a lot of old reports and files to archive," Euan said, while Harry smiled at her comment.

"Feel free to lend a hand," Harry suggested.

"Oh, no, I think you've got it under control," she said with a short laugh before ducking back out of the office. At least it wasn't all bad, and she'd have her own office to herself.

But by the next day, Hermione felt very much on edge. It had come on slowly, and she wasn't overly sure what caused it; she had been fine seeing the Malfoys in Azkaban, surely she'd be fine seeing them from across an office. But she just had the paranoid feeling that they would _know_. Know who she was associating with, who was teaching her, who she had slept with. It was ridiculous, really. They would be taken straight from Azkaban to the Ministry - no pit stops. There would be no opportunities to see what the tabloids had to say about her love life. Not to mention, according to Lucius, Voldemort was still his old, snake-faced self.

But she still couldn't shake the nagging feeling.

She had been glancing out of the office window all morning, not wanting to miss their entrance. After nervously shifting in her seat for a few hours, the time was upon her and she saw a distinctly blond head moving past flanked on both sides by escorting Aurors. She was sure that Narcissa must have been there with her husband, but being a shorter woman, she didn't see her past the high windows.

Once they had safely passed by, Hermione slinked out from the office and headed in the opposite direction to which they had headed for the elevator. She was sure she'd feel better if she wasn't in the Department while they were there.

She didn't know why she was letting it get to her. _Stupid, really._

She absentmindedly made her way back to the cafe, and paid for a large coffee, knowing all too well that the caffeine wouldn't help her anxiety in the slightest.

Still, it was worth a shot.

As she made her way out, she was so lost in her own thoughts that she walked straight into a tall man who was entering at the same time she was leaving.

" _Ah!_ " She yelped as she spilled her coffee all over his front, right at the same time as he let out an angry, "watch it!"

She quickly pulled out her wand, intent on cleaning up the mess that was her coffee, when she looked up and noticed _who_ it was she had run into.

_Draco Malfoy._

Just her luck.

He looked down at her with a firm scowl. "Fucking hell, Granger."

She almost flinched at the name _Granger._

"Don't teach you how to walk up in that cushy office then, do they?" He remarked as he took out his own wand to start cleaning his jacket.

"I - I'm sorry," she managed.

"Yeah," he said before stepping around her toward the cafe's counter, muttering to himself about her lack of coordination as he went.

As she watched him retreat into the coffee shop, she couldn't help but feel a bit sorry for the man who'd tormented her throughout her schooling days. He had been visibly stressed, with gaunt cheeks and hair pushed back as if he'd been running his hands through it endlessly. Clearly his parents being released back into his care was putting a strain on him.

He'd been without his parents for some of the most vital years of his life, she realised with a pang of sympathy. Although her parents were on the other side of the country, at least she could reach them. At least they'd attended her wedding. She couldn't imagine having to go without them for seven, now nearly eight years.

But were his parents the only thing that was bothering him? Voldemort had mentioned that he had been ignoring all of his attempts at making contact. Perhaps that had something to do with it.

_If only he knew who was downstairs._

 

*

 

Come Saturday evening, Hermione was a bundle of nerves for the meeting ahead and the Malfoys were long forgotten. She thankfully hadn't run into any of them again, and it became fairly easy to put their freedom out of her mind, especially when she was so distracted with the meeting coming up.

_Who would be there? How_ many _would be there? Would there be anyone she knew? Who knew what he and his Death Eaters got up to for their meetings. Would there be arguing? Would he torture them? Would she hear anything useful? Anything that could help her communicate with Harry?_

Voldemort approached her as she stood waiting by the back door in the living room, lost in her own thoughts, imagining all of the ways the evening could go badly.

"I have another... engagement, next weekend. I'll need you then, as well," he stated.

His words brought her back to reality and she pursed her lips. "Asking wouldn't hurt, you know."

"If I asked, would you say yes?" He asked in his best Hermione imitation.

"Probably not," she conceded. "What is this engagement anyway? Who in their right mind would invite _you_ anywhere?"

"I am very well liked, thank you very much," he said shortly as he lifted his outer robe from where it hung over the back of his armchair.

She snorted, even though she knew it was unfortunately true.

"Lucius and Narcissa are hosting a coming home party," he explained eventually as he shrugged his dark robes on. "This is their way of reforming their past connections in the Ministry, I expect."

"I'm not going," she stated quickly with raised eyebrows.

"I need you there."

"What, why?"

"Because I said so."

"No."

He narrowed his eyes. "For all intents and purposes, this is a _work_ function. We should attend together, for appearances."

"You didn't care about appearances for Luna's wedding," she remarked before she could stop herself.

"That's different."

"No, it isn't."

" _Just -_ " he broke off to hold the bridge of his nose. "We are not compromising. You're coming."

She rolled her eyes and pulled the back door open. She stepped out and waited for him to follow out onto the back deck. As he joined her, he stayed quiet and offered her his hand.

Trying not to think too much of what was to come, she nervously took his hand and let herself go with his apparition.

They reappeared in what looked to be a courtyard. The stone building looked old, climbers growing their way up the walls and across the old tiles of the roof. The garden was well kept, a household with money, she assumed. She reached out to steady herself on the side of the building and felt grains of the brick fall away at her touch.

"The Goyles have lived here for generations," he explained, seeing her studying the building. "Come."

He led her through the courtyard towards a large door, which opened for them by itself as they approached.

"Remember what I told you," he said in a low voice as they stepped around the hall to a large wooden staircase.

"'Be quiet'. I'm sure I can manage," she said sarcastically, her voice echoing through the empty hall.

He softly sighed and led the way up the stairs, following around to the right once they reached the upper landing. Hermione followed closely, and bit her lip nervously as they ran into a short, plump woman who was heading down the hall towards them.

"Lilliana," he greeted, taking her hand in his. He bowed down and placed a kiss on the back of her hand. "I hope you don't mind that I brought company."

The woman, Lilliana, quickly glanced up toward Hermione sourly. "Not at all," she said in a surprisingly high-pitched voice. "The others are waiting in the study."

"You are much too kind," he said with another slight bow of his head. He stepped around her and continued on down the hall, taking another right turn.

"Lilliana Goyle," he murmured in her direction before she had a chance to ask. "One of the few remaining Goyles. She inherited this house from her Uncle after he and her cousin died."

She nodded, but didn't reply. It wasn't news to her; she had seen the notice in the Daily Prophet of Gregory Goyle's death. She had felt a bit of sadness knowing another of her schoolmates had passed, but yet she hadn't had it in her to feel any sympathy for him.

Approaching a closed, black door, he stopped and placed a hand on the handle, while turning to face her once again. "Keep close."

He turned the knob, and pushed the door open to reveal a dimly lit room with a long table. Around the table sat ten, maybe twelve figures, and Hermione immediately put in a conscious effort not to stare. She could feel their eyes like knives on her skin as they entered the room, and made sure to follow Voldemort closely.

Ironic, really, that she should feel safer with _Voldemort_ himself than with his Death Eaters.

As they reached the table, Voldemort pulled out the empty chair on the end, and gestured to his left, to where Florian had stood to bow his head.

"Move," he said quietly, looking to Florian.

As he realised who he had spoken to, Florian gaped. "My Lord?"

He met Florian's eyes, silently challenging him to argue. He looked as if he were about to protest, but decided otherwise at the last moment. He bowed his head slightly once again and pushed the chair back. As he stepped out, he glowered in Hermione's direction before moving down the table and taking up a place toward the end.

Voldemort gestured to the now empty seat beside him.

Hermione glanced at him quickly before hesitantly taking the seat, trying to ignore the unrelenting stares she was getting. She tucked her arms in as she pulled the chair in, attempting to make herself as small as possible.

She looked up to find a blonde woman on the other side of the table to her left shooting daggers in her direction with eyes so narrow, they almost appeared closed. She looked as though she were bursting to say something, but knew better than to break the silence. Hermione bit her lip again and looked down toward her lap, not wanting to egg the woman on.

The room fell into a painful silence for what felt like an eternity, before Voldemort began drumming his fingers on the table top. He tightened his jaw and looked toward the empty spaces by the end of the table, before glancing back over to Florian.

"Any word from Lucius?" He asked, his voice sounding strangely loud in the quiet room.

"No, My Lord," Florian answered, now from the other end of the table.

Voldemort moved his head in a subtle nod and continued tapping his fingers as he released a slow breath through his nose.

"What is _she_ doing here?" The woman finally asked in a scathing tone, apparently unable to withhold it any longer.

Voldemort's eyes snapped to meet the woman's.

"None of your concern," he said ever so quietly.

"It's _all_ of our concern, that's _Hermione Granger_. Potter's _mudblood_ -"

"Dolohov," he interrupted, in the same quiet tone. "If you would like for your tongue to remain inside of your mouth, you will be _silent._ "

Dolohov's eyes narrowed as she sent Hermione a scowl, but did as she was instructed and remained quiet.

Once again, the room returned to a state of tense silence, the only sounds being from the fireplace on the far wall, and from Voldemort's still drumming fingers. A few of the attendees sent each other quick questioning glances.

Hermione was slightly surprised that she only recognised a couple of the attendees. Florian Evrard, Seamus Aldridge, and now, who she assumed was Athena Dolohov.

"How many of Carrigan's are left?" Voldemort asked tiredly, breaking the silence once more.

"Three," Florian answered quickly. "Most have come around, even those released a fortnight ago. These last few, however, are still remaining stubborn."

Voldemort glanced up toward a rather pale Seamus.

"Perhaps then, you may be of some assistance, Aldridge? You know them, do you not?"

He bowed his head. "I - I can try," he said quickly. "My Lord," he added, having received a stern look from Florian who sat opposite him.

"Tell me," Voldemort started, still directing his words to Seamus. "How did you fare Wednesday evening?"

"Well, My Lord," he answered. "I thank you for the opportunity."

Voldemort flashed his teeth in something that wasn't quite a smile. "I take it, that Williamson was amenable to our cause?"

"He was most agreeable," Seamus agreed.

"And what of the neighbours?"

Seamus' eyes widened slightly as he glanced across to Florian once more. "My Lord?" He asked hesitantly.

"The muggles next door who overheard the commotion. How did you handle them?"

Seamus paled.

"W-we silenced all witnesses," he said quickly.

" _Witnesses_ ," Voldemort repeated lazily, as if tasting the word on his tongue. "How many were there?"

"Five."

"Five... _women? Children?_ Please, do enlighten us."

"A couple, My Lord, and their three children."

Hermione could feel the bile rising in her throat as she began to realise where this was going. The way Seamus shifted in his seat sending Florian worried glances, told her he hadn't expected Voldemort to know about the muggles. But what really bothered her was that he didn't look _guilty._ He looked scared, yes. He looked _uncomfortable_ under Voldemort's watchful eyes. But did he look regretful? Not in the slightest.

_It was only the worst kind of evil that killed children_.

As she watched Seamus and felt her cheeks warm in anger, Hermione missed the way that Voldemort cast her a sideways glance.

"You silenced them, you say?" He continued.

"Yes, My Lord."

"How?"

"We killed them," he said, as if it were obvious.

" _We?_ "

" _I_ killed them," Seamus corrected quickly. "I thought it my chance to prove myself as a loyal servant, and I did not hesitate to take the opportunity."

Voldemort nodded, moving a hand up to lean his head against his fist.

"How did you kill them?"

"I - with the killing curse, My Lord."

"Was it quick?" he asked softly, his voice eerily gentle. "Did they see you coming?"

"No - it - I took my time," he said uncertainly.

Voldemort hummed. "You mean, you _tortured_ them?"

Seamus' eyes flicked back to Florian. "Yes, My Lord."

"The children, and their mother, too?"

"I -" Seamus cut off, suddenly unsure of whether his answers were the _right_ answers. "Yes. None were spared."

Hermione focused intently on her hands, clasping them together so tightly that it felt like her nails had drawn blood.

"Tell me," Voldemort continued, leaning forward over the table, bearing his teeth in a smile that certainly wasn't warm. "Just between us friends. Did you _enjoy_ it?"

A few of the men down the table laughed at his question, and at the way that Seamus looked to Florian for help once more.

"Yes," he said quickly. "I wouldn't hesitate in your service, My Lord."

Voldemort gave a single nod as if he were finally satisfied as he leaned back into his chair, resting his long arms on his arm rests.

Hermione wanted to vomit.

"Noel, what of the Department of Mysteries?" He asked, focusing away from Aldridge to the man on his right.

"It's still proving difficult, My Lord," the dark-haired man answered confidently. "Croaker is, as you know, exceedingly well trained. The attempts to place the Imperius curse have all failed, thus far."

"Yet you remain hopeful?"

"As always," the man said without a flinch. "We will break him, soon enough."

Voldemort held his stare for a moment before looking back down the long table.

"Can anyone offer me something that hasn’t been a failure?"

The uncomfortable silence returned to the room all too quickly.

"I-I have word that the Norwegian Ministry has supported Germany's request for Minister Shacklebolt's resignation," the man seated next to Hermione said shakily.

"Indeed?"

"The Swiss aren't far off either," he added. "With another reminder of the Ministry's failure to apprehend you, My Lord, I am sure they will add to the pressure on the Minister."

Voldemort slowly nodded. "Soon. We will act soon. Once our numbers have risen adequately."

"Of course, My Lord."

Voldemort looked around the room thoughtfully for a moment, once again tightening his jaw as he focused on the chandelier above them.

"I am disappointed," he announced, his eyes focusing on the empty chairs by the end of the table. "With our missing three, there is little more to discuss."

The room quickly grew tense once more, the attendees seeming to hold their breaths.

"I don't wish to be disappointed next time," he said quietly before staring down at the grain of the hardwood table.

Hermione met Dolohov's eyes once more as she sent another ice-cold glance in her direction.

"If that is all," Voldemort continued lazily, addressed to the group, though he didn't look up. "You may leave. Except for you, Aldridge, Granger," he added as everyone else rose.

They slowly filed out of the room, many bowing their heads as they passed. A few sent curious glances in Seamus' direction, a few simply seemed happy that it wasn't them who had been asked to stay.

Once the room was empty save the three of them and the door had latched closed, Voldemort slowly rose to a stand while both Hermione and Seamus looked up to him questioningly.

He clenched his jaw thoughtfully, and with a quick flick of his wrist, ropes materialised around Seamus' wrists, binding him to his chair. Seamus' eyes widened, as he pulled against his restraints.

"No," he breathed, looking back up to Voldemort. "No, _please._ Please, I _beg of you._ I did as you asked! I swore my loyalty! I didn't leave _any_ witnesses, I promise, _please!_ "

With another lazy flick of his wrist, Seamus was silenced, leaving him thrashing against the chair silently. Only the sound of the legs of the chair scratching on the stone floor remained.

"What are you doing?" Hermione demanded, rising up from her chair and stepping over.

"You wanted a lesson," he said simply, stepping over to reach for her hand. "I am giving you one."

He pulled her out from around the table to face Seamus.

"It is time for us to move onto the Cruciatus curse. You've been reading up, you know the incantation and wand movements, yes?"

At his words, Seamus began to thrash more violently.

She turned to look to him with an open mouth. "No. I won't," she said stubbornly.

"You need to learn," he said, taking up stance behind her and placing his hands on her shoulders, turning her back to Seamus. "If you truly wish to master your magic, you will do as I say. I have given you a month. There will be no more waiting. This is your chance."

"No, I -"

"He deserves it," he went on in a softer tone. "You heard him, how he killed them, how he made them suffer."

She shook her head. "On _your_ orders!"

"No, _no_ , love," he said in a whisper. "He was asked _not to leave any witnesses_. He could've simply chosen to take their memories. He didn't have to torture them, they were defenceless muggles. He didn't have to _slaughter_ them like _pigs._ He chose to."

She squeezed her eyes shut.

"He _enjoyed_ it," he continued in her ear. "He'll do it again if you let him."

Seamus continued thrashing, his chair very slowly shifting backward as he tried to jump in it.

" _I won't_ ," she said, keeping her eyes closed.

"You know it's true," he whispered, so close now that his stubble scratched on her cheek. "If you leave him unpunished, he'll happily do it again. _Three_ children, tortured, and _murdered_ in cold blood. A couple, close in age to your _parents_. How many will be next, hmm? How many could you have saved?"

She tried to come up with a reason not to. She tried as hard as she could, but as always, _he was right. There wouldn't be a better opportunity while their vow was in place. Seamus didn't regret his actions. He did not feel remorse for his actions._

_And this was the last stepping stone between her and the Killing curse._

With a soft growl, she stepped forward, freeing herself of his grip on her shoulders.

She raised her wand.

"Now," he started, and she could _hear_ his smile, "feet shoulder width apart, arm straight - _perfect._ "

She clenched her jaw, his argument echoing in the front of her mind. _He killed three children. Not only killed, but_ tortured. _He needed to pay._

" _Crucio._ "

Like Fiendfyre, the recoil of the spell was _intense._ She felt a strong pressure over her body, a pressure that she had a hard time distinguishing. _Pleasure, or pain?_

Her arms, her legs, her neck felt _tight_ , as if the spell had a body of its own and was squeezing her. The sensations ran through deep in her stomach - the same tight, unpleasant feeling.

It helped that Aldridge had been silenced; had she heard his screams, she might not have managed to hold it for as long as she did. As soon as she broke it off, her body began to twitch, her skin prickling, feeling the sudden absence of the pressure.

"Try again," he instructed, almost immediately. "Your form is good, but you need to _want_ it. You need to _accept_ the feeling it gives you, you need to truly want him to hurt."

She shook her head, folding her arms across her chest in an attempt to stop them shaking. The aftermath felt different to the other spells she had learned. The prickling was uncomfortable, _unpleasant_.

"It will feel better once you get it right," he said knowingly as she tried to loosen her tight muscles in her shoulders. " _Try again._ "

She closed her eyes and took a moment to breathe, before extending her wand arm once more.

_Two innocent muggles_ , she reminded herself. _Their_ three _children. He needed to pay._

" _Crucio_ ,"

The second time _did_ feel better. The pressure was much more skewed toward pleasure than pain, and felt lighter than the first time.

"Better," he said, stepping closer once more as she stopped again. "But it's still not _quite_ right."

She kept her eyes closed and tried to steady herself on her now-wobbly legs.

"You need to accept what the magic gives you," he repeated slowly, moving in front of her. He reached out and gently took hold of her cheeks. "The spell will work fine now, but if you want to be _great_ , if you want to be _powerful_ , then you need to let it in, fully."

"I don't know what you _mean -_ "

"This feels good, doesn't it?" He asked as his fingers ran across her cheeks and into her hair, pushing it back. They moved down her neck, each finger delicately running down her neck, easing the prickling of the magic with their touch. Her eyes fluttered shut at the feeling.

He circled her, taking up his place behind her again. His hands moved back to her shoulders as he stepped closer, his body pressing warmly against hers. He moved his mouth to her ear, his stubble brushing her jaw as he did so.

"This feels good, too?" He murmured, moving to the crook of her neck to place a surprisingly gentle kiss. She felt goose-bumps down her arms at the tickle of his stubble. "Just like this, you need to accept the pleasure. _Embrace it._ Relax, open yourself up, and let yourself feel what it gives you," he explained lowly, pressing another kiss to her neck.

"Try again," he instructed, stepping back again.

So, she did.

And it was wonderful _._

" _Beautiful_ ," he whispered as he watched, though she did not hear.

It was amazing. _Awful,_ but also _amazing._

She didn't know how long she ended up holding the spell for. It could have been five minutes or five hours for all she knew, before she heard his soft voice again. It echoed, sounding like he had spoken to her from the other end of a long tunnel, his muffled voice making it hard to work out what he had said.

"Stop."

She didn't.

"Hermione."

She _couldn't._

"You need to _stop_ now."

She wouldn't listen to the echoing voice, there was no chance. She couldn't even focus on the man in front of her, who was no longer silently screaming having lost consciousness. All she could see were the muggles, tortured, _screaming_ , undeserving. He had liked it, and he needed to _pay..._

" _Hermione._ "

_He needed to suffer like they had._

With a quick step forward, Voldemort snatched the wand out of her hand, ending the curse.

Seamus' head rolled back, his irises disappearing as it hit the back of the chair with a soft thud.

Hermione stumbled back until she was leaning against the meeting room wall, breathing deeply, still unable to _see._ Voldemort let her calm herself while he stepped over to Seamus, pulling his eyelids up and checking for some response in his eyes. Finding none, he moved on to gently slap his face before checking his pulse and taking out his wand.

After what felt like a few minutes, Hermione felt herself coming back to reality and focused back on Voldemort.

"What did I do?" She asked in a panicked tone, seeing him trying to get a response from Seamus.

He gave up and stepped over to her, reaching out to stroke her head. "Nothing. You did well, it's fine."

"No, _no_ , but he's -"

"Shh, _shh_ , it's okay, love," he soothed, running his hands up her arms. "Nothing to worry about."

"No, _no, no,_ I c-couldn't stop, and he, what if I've -"

"I'll take care of it, alright?" He assured her, his eye contact immediately calming her. "Don't worry."

She stiffly nodded as he stepped back, turning to his side to face where Seamus twitched in his chair.

_He would take care of it. If there was anyone who could fix this, it was him,_ she told herself. _He’ll be fine. Don't worry, don't worry, don't worry._

_There's nothing to worry about._

Hermione didn't hear him cast the spell, but the green light that flashed through the room was enough.

" _No!_ " She yelled, pushing herself off of the wall.

His eyes snapped back to her, and he caught her by the shoulders to stop her from rushing over to Seamus.

"I'm sorry, my love, but it was the only thing for it. It was my fault. I should have stopped you sooner. I let you get carried away," He said gently, cupping her cheeks in his hands. "He wouldn't have lived, had I spared him. Besides, this way, they have justice. He died the way they died."

" _No, but I - I didn't want him dead! Now it's - and_ -" she broke off as she met his eyes.

For the first time after living with him for months, she could _see_ it. In the way his eyes were _slightly_ more hooded than usual, in the way he blinked _slightly_ more forcefully.

_The magic was affecting him too._

"I - I don't..." she mumbled, stepping away from him backward towards the door. "I want to go."

"Of course."

She vaguely took note of how he transfigured Seamus' body into a small doll and tucked it into his pocket before he took her hand and led her out of the house. She hardly realised as he apparated them back to his place and pushed her in towards the couch. She couldn't think as she sat and stared at her hands, watching how her fingers shook from the magic.

After Merlin knows how long, she acknowledged her throat that felt as dry as a bone, and shakily rose to her feet. She slowly made it to the kitchen and conjured herself a glass of water.

She slowly sipped and closed her eyes as she leaned her body weight on her other arm on the counter top.

_Her head was spinning._

The aftermath of the magic felt only like it was getting worse, not better.

Wasn’t it meant to be getting better?

_Christ, what had happened?_ Her thoughts were foggy, like murky waters. _They had been in a room. A full room, yes. And he..._

_Ben... Voldemort... Tom..._

Fuck, what was his name?

_He'd been in charge. He'd told them to leave. Except for the muggle killer. He stayed, but then he screamed, and then he was silent, and then he was_ dead.

Wait, what? _Who was dead?_

She flinched at a sudden warm contact at her shoulder. _He_ was there again.

_Had he always been there?_

"Are you alright?" His deep voice echoed.

She felt like she was moving in slow motion. "Yeah, I-I’m fine. I think," she managed.

The warmth of his hand on her shoulder didn't fade.

_Was his hand still there?_

She leaned in to the warmth of his touch, feeling _stilled_ by his contact.

_She wished the spinning would just stop._

She felt his other hand find her waist, and she leaned back into his hold, resting her head back onto his chest. She closed her eyes and took a calming breath.

_He was solid. He was still._

She swayed slightly in his hold, the rush of the magic still throbbing. Her arms, her head, the _air_ all pulsed with her. It felt like she was falling, but also not. It was as if he was the only thing holding her up.

"It'll get better," she heard him say. His voice echoed, once again like he had spoken to her from down a long tunnel.

_It'll get better... it'll get better..._

_He kept telling her that, but would it?_

She turned herself around and pressed her forehead against his chest, the closer contact grounding her. She reached up and took a tight hold of the front of his shirt.

"It won't always be so overwhelming," he said, wrapping his long arms around her.

He spoke as if it would happen again, as if she would use the curse again. _But it wasn't about using the spell_ , he had said. _So why would it happen again?_

She didn't notice herself make a sound, but by the way he pulled back to look down at her, she assumed that she must have.

"No -"

"Don't worry," he said for the second time that night. "I'll look after you."

_But didn't make sense. Why was he being like this? Why was he being_ caring? _He wasn’t_ meant _to be caring. Was this part of it? Was he manipulating her now, still?_

_He couldn't possibly truly care. There was no way._

_Wait, why couldn’t he care?_

_...But did it even matter?_ He was still, and he was warm. _That was what mattered._

She closed her eyes once more as the fogginess overcame her. She didn't want to try to make sense of her thoughts anymore. She just wanted to be still.

He moved her head back and leaned his forehead against hers, and had she been in a more perceptive state, she would have noticed his uneven breathing, the way it matched hers, the way he was closing his eyes for too long as he blinked, the way his hands twitched just like hers against her lower back.

_The way he was using her to hold him up, just as she was using him._

He slowly began to push her back, such that she was pressed back against the kitchen countertop. He pushed his body closer, and brought his hands up to cradle her jaw, preventing her from moving away.

He moved in a fraction closer, and Hermione instinctively pushed back on his chest to stop him. She wasn’t sure why; her instincts simply told her to.

"No," she managed, "I don't think-"

"It doesn't have to mean anything," he murmured, still impossibly close.

_Didn’t it?_

His hands on her cheeks radiated warmth, calming her twitching. _Why was she stopping him again? He’d make it better. If his bare hands were helping, surely if these robes weren’t separating them, she’d feel even better._

_He’d look after her, he said he would. He was still._

"It's just sex,” He continued, his ragged breath easier to notice now.

He leaned closer again, his lips brushing hers lightly with a feather of a touch.

She softly hummed, no longer able to form words.

And then he kissed her, _properly_ , and all coherent thought was well and truly gone. He laced his hand around the back of her neck, while the other moved around her waist, pulling her close.

And it was awful, _he_ was awful, but she couldn’t remember _why,_ and as she kissed him back, and ran her hand through his hair, she simply couldn't make herself _stop._ Her mind had stopped functioning; there was nothing else but _her_ , and _him_ , the way he stilled her, and the _need_ to remove the layers of clothing between them.

For the rest of the night, there was nothing else.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's pretend that Goyle is dead. Okay? Okay.
> 
> Also YAY 100K! I truly didn't think I had it in me to make it this far :) Here's hoping I don't burn out before the end!


	19. Malfoy Manor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guuuuuys I have a confession. I may have looked over the archive warnings too quickly, and as such, I have now changed them to include *ahem* major character death. Many apologies for changing this so late in the game!
> 
> I also apologise for the large amount of filler that's in this chapter, but once I started writing, I simply couldn't help myself.

Upon waking up past noon on Sunday, Hermione felt _wonderful,_ as if the foggy night before had all just been a bad dream _._ She awoke between the silk sheets feeling like she was buzzing with energy. Colours appeared brighter, food tasted better, so much so that her initial shame at waking up in his bed yet again dissipated within _minutes._

It was as if there was another presence in her head, whispering quiet words of encouragement. _What was the_ point _in feeling ashamed? She had needs, and he was more than willing to assist with those needs. She was an adult, after all. It didn't mean anything. It was only sex._

"You're looking chipper," he commented after she had finished her breakfast and joined him in the living room.

"Aren't you?" She said as she bounded over to the large windows, pulled the curtains wide open and admired the vivid greenery of the backyard. It looked like an unseasonably warm Autumn day.

"We should go out somewhere," she said enthusiastically as she spun on her heel to face him. "We should _do_ something."

He smiled out of the corner of his mouth, but didn't reply. In stark contrast with her, he looked as if he hadn't slept.

"You don't want to?"

"I have some rather urgent matters to be dealing with," he said tiredly.

She hesitated and softly gasped as she thought on what he could have meant.

_Aldridge._ She had completely forgotten.

She had tortured a man. Not only that, but tortured him out of his mind. And he... he had _killed_ him.

She knew she should feel something. She knew the remorse should be there. Disgust too, in herself, in him, for what they'd done. But she simply... couldn't feel it. It was like, the emotions were simply a concept that she knew about, but couldn't currently fathom. Like there was a glass window standing between her and what she should have been feeling; she could see them just fine, but she couldn't _touch_ them.

She frowned.

Seeing her sudden change in demeanour, Voldemort leaned forward.

"Why don't you head down to Diagon Alley for a while?" He suggested gently. "You've almost completely worked your way through my collection."

It suddenly sounded like a wonderful idea. _Why hadn't she thought of that?_ The little presence in her mind seemed to nudge her back toward the door, and didn't let her consider the possibility that he was purposely trying to get rid of her.

She smiled and stood up straighter. "Yeah. I - I think I'll do that," she said, going to leave.

Voldemort turned his head to watch her leave, tensing his jaw thoughtfully as he did so.

She came back later that afternoon with a shrunken package of books tucked away in her bag. She'd ended up spending far longer in Flourish and Blotts than she'd care to admit, and decided to purchase almost half of the books that had caught her eye.

It was nice, taking a day to forget her worries and feel like Hermione Granger again.

Her work week began with the same energy and she completely lost herself in her work. Still feeling ridiculously energised, she polished off almost _twice_ as many reports as she usually would, she had a _civil_ conversation with Iris, and she even managed to smile at a few people trying to take her photograph. It was looking to be her most productive week yet.

It also helped that Voldemort's mysterious bad mood only seemed to last a day, and he quickly returned to his usual self. In fact, not only did they not argue a single time, but Hermione wasn't sure if they'd ever gotten along _better._ Upon returning to work, she'd easily fallen back into the same flirtatious routine she'd been a part of when he was just _Ben_ , and to say that it was complicating things was putting it lightly.

With her blissful mood, she found it impossible to consider the fact that her roommate was a murderer, one of the worst possible kind. She couldn't even remember why she would ever be opposed to his affections, and so, come Monday night, as they were making dinner together and he pulled her into his long arms, she let him. She responded to his kisses with vigour, and very quickly ended up on the couch with him with very little in the way of clothing while their food was left forgotten in the kitchen.

In a matter of days, her life had become a blissful, hazy mess, and she wasn't sure if she had ever been happier.

That was, until Wednesday. She jolted awake at one a.m. with an intense wave of nausea, and bolted to the bathroom. She _thankfully_ made it in at the very last second, emptying her stomach into the toilet bowl with mere seconds to spare. She hated to think of the grief he would give her had she vomited on his white carpet.

She knelt down in front of the toilet and tried to ease the nausea with long, deep breaths. Unfortunately, her breathing technique wasn't proving to be very effective.

_She hated vomiting._

After ten long minutes, once it felt like she had absolutely nothing left to throw up, she shuffled over to the sink to wash her face. She shakily made the trek from the bathroom back to her bed, feeling enormously grateful for the fact that she had been sleeping in the guest bedroom that night. It was only once she laid back down that she realised how bad she actually felt, and that the nausea wasn't her only problem.

She felt like she had been hit by a train. Her head had begun to pound, and her hands had begun to shake. It wasn't long as she lay there covering her eyes with her arms, that she felt the unpleasant sensation of a thin layer of sweat forming all over her body.

She curled her legs up and wrapped her arms around them to stop their shaking. She once again tried focusing on her breathing, praying that she could sleep whatever it was off.

She had hardly managed to doze off before the nauseous wave struck again. She made it out to the bathroom much quicker than she had the first time, not having been completely asleep this time around.

She rested her chin on her knees in front of the toilet after the second bout of vomiting seemed to calm down. After having been sat on the cold tiles for a good quarter of an hour, she heard the door swing open from behind her, but didn't have the energy to turn to look.

"You're not a very quiet vomiter, you know."

She closed her eyes to stop herself from screaming at him. " _What do you want?_ "

"Here."

She forced herself to turn slightly to see Voldemort stepping into the bathroom, extending a small, dark bottle in her direction.

"What is that?" She asked in a raspy voice.

"Potion for your nausea. It'll help."

She scowled, but took it all the same. "You knew I'd be sick?"

"Tends to happen the first few times."

"Does it happen to you?"

"Do you see me kneeling in front of a toilet?"

"Ugh," She rolled her eyes and properly took him in, "can you at least put a shirt on?"

He scoffed and left her alone once more.

She eyed the unlabelled potion bottle suspiciously, assuming it was a potion of his own brewing, before yet another wave of nausea struck. A few coughs later, she uncorked the small bottle and downed it in a single mouthful, no longer feeling the energy to care whether he'd tampered with it or not. He'd vowed not to hurt her, after all.

She felt some relief almost instantly, and let out a slow sigh.

Grateful to finally be able to put some distance between herself and the toilet, she trudged back down the hall to her bed and hopped back in, wrapping her hands tightly in the sheets to stop them from shaking.

The potion brought with it hours of relief, allowing her to get a few more hours of sleep before her alarm chimed. Feeling both sleep deprived and like she was suffering from a monumental hangover, she forced herself up and got herself ready for work.

She made her way down towards the kitchen slowly, slightly worried she'd end up tumbling down the stairs. _Coffee would help. Coffee always helped._

"What do you think you're doing?" Voldemort asked with a cocked eyebrow as he turned from the fridge to see her entering the room.

"Getting breakfast."

He gave her a quick once-over.

"Why are you dressed in your good work clothes?"

"Because I'm going to work," she said as though it were obvious.

"You most certainly are not."

"You can't stop me," she stated, reaching out for the kettle to make a coffee the good old-fashioned way.

"I can, and I will. If you go into work like this, Potter will make an attempt on my life. Go back to bed."

"No."

"Hermione -"

"I can't take a day off. There's too much to do."

"I doubt you could even manage to hold a quill, let alone write a sentence, you're shaking so badly."

"I am not," she said, tucking her free hand into her pocket.

"Go back to bed."

" _No._ "

"If you pass out, you'll be carted off to St. Mungo's," he pointed out, "and then, you'll be forced to take _multiple_ days off, and the healers will give you a check-up, and if you manage to get a good one, they'll figure out _why_ you're so sick. All it would take is for _one_ rogue nurse to leak the story that the great _Hermione Granger_ is in hospital because she was having withdrawal symptoms from playing with Dark Magic."

She narrowed her eyes stubbornly.

"And _then_ , not only will your reputation be dragged through the mud, but you will drag me along with you. I have no intention of allowing that to happen."

"But -"

"Not to mention, your meddling group of friends will know exactly what you've been doing with me, and you'll proceed to alienate them even further."

"They won't -"

"You know that I'm right," he said, stepping over to turn her around and push her in the direction of the stairs. "So, head back on up, tuck yourself back in, and sleep it off."

She sighed loudly, dreading missing a full day of work, but knowing he had a point. Though, she supposed she _had_ caught up on a lot of her work over the last few days, after all...

"You'll tell Kingsley where I am?"

"Certainly."

"...fine," she said grudgingly, stepping toward the door.

"Wonderful," he said smugly. "And you know, if you start feeling sick again, my room has the ensuite. Much shorter distance to the toilet bowl."

She turned back around and looked at him thoughtfully. It was a strangely kind offer.

"You know I don't mind sharing my bed with you," he added with a wink.

" _Ugh_ ," she sounded out of disgust, and left the room.

But when he returned late that night, he entered his bedroom to find a bushy haired witch curled up under his sheets.

*

The next day, when Hermione arrived at work, she headed straight for the staff room. Voldemort had been insistent upon her taking the next day off as well, so she had resorted to sneaking out the instant he had left. She figured he couldn't make her stay home if she was already there. She had been able to accept that she needed a day off, but she'd be _damned_ if she'd take two.

She bee-lined straight over to the communal coffee jar. _More coffee. Coffee always helped._

She conjured a mug and a spoon, and added a teaspoon of sugar to her coffee, her hand shaking as she did so. When she reached the mug, she was struck with a particularly strong shake and ended up spilling half of the spoonful.

"Are you alright?"

She jumped in surprise and dropped the spoon in the mug as she turned to face Harry.

"Yes. Yeah, fine," she said, her voice slightly uncertain.

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously before stepping closer to get a good look at her.

"Woah, you don't look very well, do you need to sit down?"

"No, no, I'm fine, really."

"No, you're all pale, and shaky, why did you come back?"

"I can't miss any more work, Harry, there's so much that needs doing, and I'm _so_ behind -"

"Sit down," Harry instructed firmly, pulling the mug over to him. "I'll do this, you sit."

She smiled sheepishly. "Thank you," she said in a small voice, as she stepped back and sat at the closest table to him.

"Don't mention it," he replied, filling up her mug with water and heating it with his wand. He summoned the milk and added a dash, before placing it on the table in front of where she sat.

"Do you want me to see if I can get you a Pepperup potion? I can raid the Auror stocks, we've got the best kind," Harry offered as he sat down opposite her.

"No, that's okay, thank you," she said, slowly lifting the mug to her lips. "I don't think it's a cold."

"I can take you to St. Mungo’s, if it's more serious, it's really no trouble -"

"No. No hospital. I'm fine, I've got too much to do."

"Do you know what it is then? Because, and no offence here, Hermione, but you really do look awful."

"I just haven't been sleeping lately," she said quickly.

"Just a lack of sleep? I can see you sweating from here, do you have a fever? Are you -" he broke off as his eyes widened. "You're not... you're not _pregnant,_ are you?"

" _No!_ " She squawked.

"Sorry, sorry," he said quickly. "But I had to ask. Ginny was in terrible shape for a few months there, so I just thought..."

"Merlin. No."

"Is there anything I can do?"

"No, it's okay. The coffee should help," she insisted before taking another sip.

She hummed in satisfaction as she let the coffee settle. She knew it was a good idea. Coffee truly was a substance sent down from the gods, and oh, how lost she'd be without it.

"I was worried when you didn't come in yesterday," Harry said. "I didn't quite believe you were actually sick, but I can see I was wrong."

She smiled against her mug. "Yeah, I've been better," she said with a small laugh.

She took another sip and soon felt her head start to sweat as her stomach turned again. Oh no. But she'd only had the potion a few hours ago, surely it hadn't worn off already...

Her stomach turned again.

_Oh no. Perhaps dairy wasn't the best decision after all..._

She groaned and rested her head down on her arms and tried breathing deeply through her mouth. She heard the scraping of Harry's chair on the tiled floor before she felt a soft pat on the back.

"Do you need some water? Or - maybe a bucket? I should take you home, you really don't seem -"

"Potter, here you are," the dreaded baritone echoed through the room. "Can you - _oh_. Is she alright?"

"Uh, no, not really," Harry replied, frowning as Voldemort stepped around him to reach out for Hermione's forehead.

"Come on, love," he said softly as he sat her up and brushed her hair back. "I'll take you home."

She made a soft sound of protest as he helped her up from the chair. "I don't want-"

"Just let Kingsley know if he asks, alright Potter?"

"Oh, I can take her home," Harry offered with a look of concern. "It's no problem, I don't mind. Or maybe to the hospital, she really doesn't seem well."

"No. I'll take her," Voldemort said firmly, wrapping his arm firmly around her waist and pulling her toward the door.

Harry looked as if he were about to protest again before catching Hermione's eye. He stiffly nodded.

With his arm laced firmly around her, Hermione was unable to break free as Voldemort helped her make the trip down the hall. She dragged her feet as he pushed her in the direction of the elevators.

"No."

He made a sound that was very close to a growl and changed direction, leading her into their office. He closed the door behind them with a flick of his wand and immediately let her go, leaving her to wobble as she tried to stay on her feet.

"What in the _bloody hell_ are you doing here?" He asked once the doors closed, his previously gentle tone completely absent. "I _specifically_ said -"

"I'm sorry."

"Did you even take a moment to _think?_ Did you not listen to a word I said?"

"I can _handle_ it."

"Clearly you can't!"

"You're the one who made me do this to myself!"

"And I told you to deal with it at home!" He yelled.

She whimpered as she bent over, leaning her hands on her knees.

He made another sound of frustration before heading back for the door. "Wait here," he instructed firmly. "And for the love of Merlin, if you must be sick, aim for the bin."

He returned a long twenty minutes later with another one of his miraculous potions, and Hermione was so relieved, she could have kissed him. She uncorked the vial and swallowed its contents as quickly as she could, feeling her nausea subside immediately. She pushed the small waste paper bin that she had been cradling aside and rose to her feet slowly, looking up to see him scowling at her.

"You are the most infuriating woman I've ever met," he said quietly.

"Yes, and you're a saint," she said, her words oozing with sarcasm. She shuffled over to her desk and opened up the report on the top of her pile, fully intending on spending the day working whether he liked it or not.

*

Hermione somehow managed to work for the next two days, albeit rather slowly, and come Saturday, she had improved immensely. Only the uncomfortable tightness in her chest and a slight tremor in her hands remained. It was a good thing too, because Voldemort apparently still expected her to attend the Malfoy's 'celebration' that night.

After finishing up with her hair, she made it downstairs to meet Voldemort who was waiting in the entrance hall. She found him leaning toward the mirror, adjusting his tie.

He was dressed in a simple black suit, making Hermione's lips thin at the injustice of it all. Karma had absolutely no business in making him so disgustingly attractive.

He turned to her, and gave her the smallest of smiles from the corner of his mouth as he gave her a once-over. "You scrub up well," he commented.

"As do you," she said, trying as hard as she could muster not to sound bitter.

"Front door today," he said reaching out for her hand. "I don't mind them knowing we'll be out."

She let him direct her toward the door, before her words came out involuntarily. "You _know_ about the Ministry's watch on you?"

He looked at her questioningly. "Hard not to. With the quality of most Aurors' disillusionment charms, they're not exactly difficult to spot."

They stepped outside on the front landing, closing the door behind them. It wasn't until they had apparated and reappeared out the front of the Malfoy's front garden that she thought to herself, _of course he did, how could he not?_ No wonder Florian went to the effort of transfiguring himself into a woman.

"Stay close to me, alright?" He murmured as they passed through the large gates, tightening his grip on her hand.

"Alright," she said dismissively, taking a moment to admire the outside of the manor. The last time she had been here was on far less friendly terms, and when she wasn't being held against her will, she had to admit that the manor truly was quite beautiful.

Upon reaching the dark door, he knocked loudly three times. After a few seconds, the door was pulled open with vigour. Not seeing anyone waiting behind it, Hermione frowned.

"Master and Miss, do come in," a high voice squeaked. Looking down, she made out a young house elf.

Her frown deepened.

Voldemort didn't reply to the elf as he entered, pulling her along with him.

"Thank you!" She called back to the elf as they passed.

She followed him as he led her through the manor, keeping close. They made their way out into the backyard, where the party opened up onto the lawn of the property. The crowd was segregated into small groups, most of which stood circling around the multitude of tables filled with drinks. She recognised a surprisingly large amount of her co-workers, and saw that Voldemort must have been right in that the Malfoys were trying very hard to re-establish their associations with the Ministry.

Voldemort lead her toward a small group of her co-workers, some of whom waved upon seeing them.

"Euan," Voldemort greeted.

Penrose gave Voldemort a stiff smile, and slightly nodded. "Mr. Jenkins. Ms. Granger," his smile wavered as he took her in. "I've set up a meeting with the Malfoys for you. They've agreed to meet toward the end of the night. Midnight, Lucius suggested."

Hermione was struck with such a strong realisation that she didn't even manage to take in what Euan had said about their meeting.

Penrose _knew_. He knew that he was working for Lord Voldemort.

Hermione felt herself smile politely, while her mind was racing. Who else in the Ministry knew who he was? Or better yet, who _didn't?_

"Thank you," Voldemort said with a warm smile, and placed his hand on Euan's shoulder.

Euan nodded, "of course."

Merlin's, how far up in the Ministry did he have followers? How many did he have? She swallowed, her throat suddenly feeling very dry.

"Would you mind?" She asked Euan who stood closest to the cluster of champagne glasses.

He nodded and handed her a tall glass, and she quickly took a sip.

She needed to be careful. If killing him wasn't an option, that would leave _arresting_ him. If he was controlling half of the Ministry, however, that would be a very difficult task; they would never be able to lay a single charge on him if he had the Wizengamot in his pocket. She quickly looked around the open lawn, scanning the crowd for any other knowing glances in their direction.

Her eyes were almost drawn to the tall man over on the far side of the garden, and she met the curious, grey eyes of Draco Malfoy. She quickly turned back to group at hand, not wanting to draw his attention more than she already had.

After withstanding a full hour of small talk that she barely took in, Hermione broke free to find the bathroom. She took her time, both out of desire to put some space between herself and her colleagues, and also to nose around the manor.

It was a very far stretch from the Burrow, Grimmauld Place, and even the Goyle's home. The Malfoy Manor was a pureblooded manor in its prime, filled with seemingly endless portraits, artefacts, and even carpets that must have cost more than Hermione's whole cottage.

She longed to leave the party in search for what she assumed must have been a exquisitely filled library. But, knowing that her absence would be noticed, she grudgingly headed back out to the party, and moved straight toward the food.

She chose a few biscuits, and stepped away from the table, moving away to lean against one of the fences before looking back in Voldemort's direction. He was in close conversation with a short woman, who she easily recognised as Dolohov.

She screwed up her nose.

"From a blood-traitor to a half-blood. You've outdone yourself."

Hermione stiffened as she registered Draco's words.

"Still as charming as ever, Malfoy," she said coolly as she glanced to her left to see him taking up a place on the fence next to her.

"And you're as clumsy as ever," he looked down to the crumbs on her chest pointedly.

She quickly frowned and brushed them off.

"I'm surprised you came," he continued. "Don't let my father see you alone."

"Yes, well, I wasn't exactly jumping at the prospect."

He scoffed, and they stood in silence for a moment. She took another look in Voldemort's direction, seeing him still caught up in conversation. Her eyes narrowed in thought. He was at a safe distance, and who knew if she'd have this chance again?

"So, have you heard anything?" She quietly asked after a moment, pouncing on the opportunity.

"Sorry?"

"From... _You-Know-Who_ ," she clarified.

"Since the last time your people questioned me?"

"The office has word he's back in the country," she continued, choosing her words carefully, "regrouping."

Draco let out a short, nervous laugh before taking a long swig of his butterbeer.

"There have been whispers," Draco murmured eventually. "But that's all they are. There's no truth to them."

Hermione's expression hardened.

"No, Draco, we have a strong lead," she insisted. "You should look out for yourself. I can get you a clearance to leave the country, if you need, and then -"

"I -" he started, seeming taken aback by her warning, "The Ministry will never clear my family."

She nodded in understanding. "Tell anyone I said this, and I will actively deny it, but; just leave. There are ways out without Ministry detection. Returning to Azkaban would be a far better fate than-"

He snorted. "Don't talk about things you don't understand."

"I understand better than most," she insisted, "and I know that anything would be better than returning to his service. If you can't leave, then at least talk to us, to Harry, and we can stop him -"

"Even if I could, I -"

"Draco!" Their heads turned in the direction of Lucius who was gesturing for him to come over to the other side of the garden. He was standing with over with Iris and Lewis Caldwell, the Head of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes.

"I - never mind," Draco said quietly before sauntering over to his father.

Hermione frowned as she watched him leave, finishing her last biscuit in a quick bite as she resisted the urge to go after him.

She felt another blasted wave of sympathy for the Malfoy heir. If only there was something she could have done to help and get him out of Voldemort's reach. But, she thought as she glanced back over to Voldemort, she was sure that anything she could do at this point would be far too late.

*

A short while later, once he was free of a very persistent Dolohov, Voldemort made his way back to Hermione, placing a long arm around her waist.

"What was that about?" She asked, referring to his conversation with Dolohov.

"I could ask you the same thing," he countered with a raised eyebrow.

"Just, catching up with an old schoolmate," she said, putting in a conscious effort to keep her voice level. _She could have sworn he hadn't seen them talking._

"Is that so?"

She shifted uncomfortably, the touch of each of his fingers on her back heavy.

"I'm curious... why haven't you gone for Draco?" She asked, avoiding his question.

"Draco isn't much use to me without his father," he said, moving closer to press a soft kiss to her forehead. To any of the guests, they would appear to be having a rather romantic discussion, rather than a political one. "He's too much of a wildcard."

"Yet, you've tried to get in touch?"

"Not particularly hard. I've summoned him, but he has opted to feel the burn of my mark rather than respond."

She frowned. "But yet, you were still expecting him and his father at your last meeting," she concluded.

"I had expected Lucius see sense, talk it into the boy." She watched him as he tightened his jaw once more.

"And he didn't," she said softly, not entirely meaning to say it aloud.

"No," he agreed. "He didn't."

She suddenly had a very bad feeling about the coming evening, which only grew worse a couple of hours later when the clock was about to strike midnight. Voldemort caught up with her again, interrupting her conversation with Caldwell. He apologised for his interruption before placing his hand on her lower back and leaning down to her ear.

"I have to see the Malfoys," he said quietly. "You stay down here, I shouldn't be too long. Don't cause any trouble."

She gave him a wary look as her stomach turned before he stepped away and crossed the garden to enter the house.

Sometimes, she truly hated being right.

*

"Stay here," he directed to Euan. "Ensure we are not disturbed."

"My Lord _,_ " he whispered, "do you really think you should be going in alone? _I mean if they_ -"

"You think me _incapable_ of handling them?" He asked dangerously.

"I - _no_ , no, I'll stay here," Euan corrected with wide eyes.

"See to it that you do," he said before knocking on the large door. He pushed it open before anyone inside responded to the knock, and closed it softly behind him.

The Malfoys were seated around a small antique dining table close to the corner of the room. In the centre of the room, sat two velvet green love seats in front of a large grand fireplace, with bookcases lining the far wall. Between the Malfoys sat what looked like a very expensive bottle of wine, which Lucius and Narcissa seemed to already have a glass of. All four heads turned up to watch him as he entered.

"Mr. Jenkins," Lucius greeted at once, gesturing beside him. "Please, take a seat."

He smiled a closed-mouth smile. "I think I'd rather stand," he said, turning his back on them and slowly stepping over to the bookcase to scan its shelves. He brushed his long finger against the spines of the books, quickly scanning their titles. He had always envied the Malfoys for their library.

The sound of a soft throat clearing echoed thorough the room, breaking the now-awkward silence. "Would you care for a glass of wine?"

"No, thank you, Narcissa," he responded slowly, plucking a book off of the shelf. He flicked through the pages briefly before returning it and turning back to the Malfoys.

"I must congratulate you, Draco, on your marriage," he said, moving around to the fireplace, where he lifted an elegant, metal letter opener and examined it. "I was a bit surprised by your choice, but all the same."

Astoria frowned but stayed quiet, seeming as though that was not the first time she had heard that particular comment.

Draco scowled. "Thank you," he said stiffly after receiving a stern look from Lucius.

"Please," Lucius started, rising from his place at the table and gesturing to the lounges, "allow us to speak openly. As I'm sure you're aware, we have been firm supporters of the Ministry for decades. We had strong partnerships with both Amelia _and_ Pius. I am sure we can come to a similar arrangement with you, perhaps in the form of a _donation_ , of sorts?"

He let out a breath of laughter. "I didn't request a meeting with you to discuss politics."

"Is that so?" Lucius asked, stepping closer. "Then, pray tell, how exactly, may we help you? We've left quite a number of important guests waiting downstairs, I'm sure you understand -"

"How did Azkaban treat you?" He interrupted, twirling the letter opener between his fingers. "Lucius? _Narcissa?_ "

Lucius' eyebrows furrowed, and he cleared his throat, as he turned to glance at his wife. "We would rather not -"

"Was it worth it?" He asked quietly, meeting Lucius' eyes. "Would you do it again?"

Lucius blinked and took a short breath, his hand tightening on his cane. "If you are here to _threaten_ us, then you will find that you are making a grave mistake."

Voldemort stepped closer with the letter opener still in hand, only a few feet away from the other man. He looked down to him, Lucius being a good few inches shorter.

"Did it break you? Have you truly renounced your ways?"

Lucius' jaw tightened.

"What the bloody hell are you on about?" Draco demanded, rising from his chair and making his way to his father’s side. Draco leaned against the mantle of the fireplace with one hand while Lucius continued to stare. "Of course we have. The Ministry knows that, the Wizengamot have cleared them for release. _Not_ that we have to answer to _you_."

Voldemort took a step closer, ignoring Draco and looking down to his previous servant with wide eyes.

"I do not take _betrayal_ well, Lucius," he stated coldly. "This is the second time for you, is it not?"

Lucius looked as though he had stopped breathing. Wide eyed, he took a step back, knocking into the side table next to one of the lounges.

"No - _no_ , it - it can't -"

While Lucius retreated, Draco scoffed. "You're insane. _Bonkers._ "

Voldemort's eyes snapped to Draco, and he flashed his teeth in a grin.

"Is that so?"

Draco sneered.

Quickly, much to quickly for Draco see it coming, Voldemort moved and brought the letter opener down through Draco's hand.

He screamed.

The women rose from the table while Voldemort stepped back, leaving Draco stuck on the mantle by his hand and advanced on Lucius.

Astoria rushed over to help Draco, while Narcissa stayed back, resembling her husband.

"Please - _Please -_ we suffered Azkaban for you. I never betrayed you -"

"Ah, the Malfoy sense of self-preservation," he commented with a grin.

"We never _meant_ \- had we _known_ -"

"You felt my call, yes? Yet you did not come, did not learn from the last time. Not you, _nor_ Draco," he added in a hiss, glancing to the fireplace where Draco was whimpering. "You truly thought that I would not come for you? You _truly_ thought that I would allow you to _disrespect_ Lord Voldemort in such a way?"

" _Of course not -_ we didn't mean - _you were gone!_ All of the others, _perished. Please,_ have _mercy,_ we -"

"I have given you mercy, Lucius. I have turned a blind eye for you time and _time_ again!" He announced, his voice raising to a yell. "I am _out_ of _patience_."

" _Please_ ," Lucius dropped to his knees.

With a final glare in Lucius' direction, Voldemort drew his wand and directed it to his head.

" _No!_ " Narcissa yelled at the same time that Lucius begged, " _please!_ "

The corner of Voldemort's mouth lifted to form a smirk.

Then, he lifted his wand slightly and glanced back, looking past Lucius, and said the words,

" _Avada Kedavra._ "

The room flashed with green light, light that Euan saw flash from under the door from the hallway.

And Narcissa fell.

" _NO!_ "

" _MOTHER!_ "

Voldemort quickly stepped forward to stop Lucius from moving over to his wife and took a tight hold around his neck. He leaned in, ensuring that he held Lucius' eye contact.

"Betray me _one more time_ , and I will _wipe the Malfoy name out of existence_ ," he whispered menacingly, before pushing him back, and leaving the Malfoys to tend to their fallen matriarch.

As the study door opened and Voldemort stepped out, the sounds of Draco's whimpering echoed through the hall. Voldemort quickly closed the door and turned to Euan, who stood waiting.

"Clean her up," he instructed, before adjusting his tie and heading back down to the party.

*

When Voldemort exited the manor a short while later, he headed straight for Hermione. He laced his fingers through hers, and excused her once again from her conversation with Caldwell, pulling her back in the direction of the manor. He gave the other guests their goodbyes as they passed, seeming very eager to leave.

"Slow down, would you?" She protested once they were out the front of the manor, almost jogging to keep up with his long strides. "Did it not go well, then?"

"It was fine," he said simply, pulling her out through the gates.

She didn't have a chance to respond before she was once again pulled into his side-along apparition.

"Clearly something happened," she stated after having taken a deep breath to recover from their travel. "You all but ran out of there!"

He didn't respond as he pulled her inside the house, the door closing by itself behind them.

"What happened?" She tried more insistently.

"I simply ensured that Lucius won't be repeating his past mistakes," he said, pushing her back until her back hit the closed door. She barely had a chance to register the slightly familiar look in his eyes before his lips came crashing down onto hers.

She let out a muffled sound of protest, pushing back firmly on his shoulders with her fists. He didn't seem to care for her resistance, taking her hands in his and pinning them back forcefully above her head.

With a muffled growl and a swift kick of her knee, she managed to get in a good shot on his upper thigh, making him pull back.

"What the _hell?_ We're not done talking! You can't just _kiss_ me, and expect me to forget what -"

He moved down to kiss her again, and she let out another muffled yelp. His grip was still far too tight on her wrists for her to push him off, which left only the one option. She moved against him, took his lip between hers and bit down.

She was humiliated to admit that the sound her bite elicited from him was one that made her feel things in places that she didn't particularly want to be feeling them, and most certainly was not one from pain. It seemed to only encourage him, as he pushed her harder against the door, bringing a hand down to grip the back of her thigh. She squeaked as he pulled her upward and she gripped onto him tightly, no longer as concerned with freeing herself as she was to stop herself from falling.

"Put me down!" She demanded, using her newly freed hands to push him back enough to break off his kiss.

She yelped again as he stepped backward and she lost the support of the door behind her. Her grip tightened on his shoulders as he moved into the dining room and kicked out one of the chairs from the table. He put her down on the table and hitched one of her legs up higher, the end of her dress pooling at her hips.

"Better?" He asked before moving in to kiss her again.

She could feel his smirk on his lips. "I'm not going to forget," she managed to sound out against him.

"I'll tell you tomorrow," he murmured before silencing her again.

She kissed him back for a moment, forcefully ignoring her conscience, before she broke it off again.

"Promise me."

"I promise," he breathed without hesitation, before moving his hips in _just_ the right way, effectively ceasing any further attempts at conversation.

*

As she woke the next morning, she was surprised to see him laying next to her, still deeply asleep. It was rare that he slept longer than her, and since finding out who he was, she hadn't seen him in such a vulnerable state until now. She took the rare opportunity to study him and the relaxed expression of his face, watching the even rise and fall of his chest, the way his eyes flickered underneath his closed eyelids as he slept.

This would be the way she would kill him, she decided, while he slept.

She looked over to her wand on the dresser. _Could she do it now?_

She looked back over and studied his calm face for a moment longer, and realised with a sharp pang of guilt, that she didn't _want_ to do it. Not yet, at least. Even if she could manage to cast the spell without his instructing her, or even if she did resort to muggle ways, there was still so much _more_ she could learn with a bit more time. It was a selfish thought, one which she shouldn't have even entertained, but even if she just had a few more months with him, that extra knowledge would stick with her _forever._

And so, she crept out of the bed and dressed herself quietly, wincing as she stretched out her sore muscles from the night before. She left the room without waking him and tiptoed down the stairs.

It was nice to have the house to herself that morning. She made herself some toast and stretched herself out on the couch as she read, choosing to not think about whatever it was that was between herself and the sleeping Dark Lord, and instead chose to learn about potions to enhance one's dreams. It was a surprisingly broad subject, one with many options of how to induce vivid dreams, with the only real danger becoming stuck in them.

It was a relaxing day she felt she needed, especially with the tightness _still_ lingering in her chest. But by the time the clock struck twelve, she began to grow worried _._

_He didn't normally sleep this long._

She crept back up the stairs, and poked her head in his bedroom. He was still where she had left him, though the sheets had moved downward precariously, now only barely covering his hips. She stood and watched, noticing how every now and then, he would twitch. She couldn't help but ponder what _Lord Voldemort_ dreamed about.

She kept herself busy for a while after that, telling herself that she wouldn't ruin a good thing by attempting to wake him unless he was still sleeping by the time it was dark out.

It wasn't until quarter to two that afternoon that she finally heard the sound of the shower running.

"Good to see you vertical again," she commented as he stepped into the living room a short while later and sat himself in his armchair, still looking quite tired. When he didn't answer, she closed her book. "So, how did your meeting with the Malfoys go?"

"Fine," he answered shortly much like the previous night, raising a hand to massage his temples as if he were suffering from a headache.

"What did you do?" She asked quietly.

"What needed to be done."

"You didn't -" she broke off, struggling to put her fears into words. "Draco – is he...?"

He frowned. "Why do you care of about him all of a sudden?"

"I don't," she said a little too quickly.

He scoffed as his nose wrinkled. "The boy is fine," he said, slowly moving to his feet again.

"Oh."

Although she was relieved, Hermione couldn't stop herself from worrying about what had surely happened during their meeting. She told herself that he must have tortured one of them, if not all of them.

But it didn't seem right, not with how he was acting. She refused to let herself consider the alternative that he had killed Lucius – he had said himself that he needed him, after all. But she was quickly picking up on his behaviours, and had seen it in his eyes that night, in his grumpy demeanour in the days that followed; the same look, the same mood he had after he had killed Aldridge.

Her fears from that night were confirmed on Wednesday morning, when she was once again cornered by Harry. He met her in the Atrium, and took hold of her wrist, putting her over to a secluded corner.

"Have you seen this?" He asked frantically, shaking the copy of the _Daily Prophet_ clutched tightly in his hand.

"Not yet, why, what's happened?" She asked as she snatched it over.

"Page three."

She hastily pulled the pages apart and scanned the page. Her eyes were drawn to a picture of a very familiar family which took up a fifth of the page. Underneath was the headline, **Malfoy Matriarch Dies at 51.**

She gasped and quickly scanned the blurb underneath.

"'A heart attack'?" She quoted questioningly.

"Supposedly."

"The week after they were released?"

"Yep," he said, popping the 'p'.

"Merlin," she looked back down to the paper to continue reading.

"Obviously it's bollocks," Harry said decidedly.

She stiffly nodded.

"And _Narcissa._ She wasn't even a Death Eater..."

"He'd still need Lucius and Draco," she said, carefully choosing her words. "Narcissa would be... a punishment. Perhaps for leaving at the battle..."

"Yeah... _yeah..._ " Harry agreed. "Maybe we can bring Draco and Lucius back in, see if they're willing to talk yet-"

"They'll need time, Harry. Give them space to mourn. Try in a few weeks," she suggested lightly.

"But we haven't got time!"

"It's his wife, and Draco's mother," she said sadly. "They'll _need_ time."

Harry let out a frustrated sigh, but slowly nodded.

As she handed the paper back to Harry and they slowly headed in the direction of the lifts together, she found herself feeling... _disappointed._ Like she had expected better.

But why should she have expected better? She knew who he was. She knew _what_ he was, however good at hiding it he may be. And yet, she couldn't deny that he was getting under her skin. Against her better judgement, she had _still_ let him get under her skin. She had known what he was doing every step of the way, and she had _still_ let him in.

She felt a nausea that was unrelated to her magic use rise up within her.

It meant nothing. She was only letting herself close to him to gain his trust, to gain his knowledge. She was using him. She knew that, she had been telling herself as much ever since he had told her so. _It doesn't have to mean anything._

_But could she commit to that? Could she remain as cold and uncaring as he was?_ She wasn't like him, she was human, she was _good._ There was only so long she could live with someone, and be _intimate_ with someone before she inevitably would become attached.

...was she becoming attached?

If she were being honest, _yes._ In her own, _irrational_ way, she had indeed grown far too attached to him.

_But honestly... did it matter?_ Being attached to someone and having feelings for someone were two entirely different things, and she was positive that she didn't have feelings for him.

She didn't, she told herself.

She most definitely did not.

 

 


	20. Markings and Warnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh I've been majorly suffering from that feeling where you read something you wrote in the past, and you just haaaate it, so apologies for taking my time with updating! Also, apologies for my typos (I've gone a bit nuts trying fixing them in the past few days), I don't have a beta reader, so I was not surprised to find that I missed quite a few.
> 
> Huge thank you to those who nagged me to update, I probably wouldn't have done it without you! :) <3

Not having the energy to start yet another argument, Hermione remained tight-lipped about Narcissa. But over the following few days, as her thoughts grew clearer, it became harder and harder maintain her silence. It seemed the longer she abstained from using any dark magic, the more she began to feel like herself again. The guilt over Aldridge started to come back in waves, the reality of her actions over the last week _pounding_ at her.

Voldemort flat out refused to give her anymore lessons until she was proficient with what she had learned so far. She had argued, she had protested, but he hadn't budged. And so, she spent as much of her free time as she could practicing on her own, using the rush of the magic to shake the growing feelings of discomfort. Her nagging conscience whispered that she _deserved_ the guilt she felt, that running from it with magic would only make it worse, but she just couldn't bring herself to stop.

_For, why would she put herself through the pain of it if she could avoid it altogether?_

The following Saturday morning after having spent the night before working on her magic, Hermione hummed to herself loudly as she wandered into the kitchen. She stopped in the doorway, surprised to see Voldemort leaning against the counter, seeming to be waiting for her.

"We're going out for breakfast," he stated, his tone clear that he wasn't asking.

Her brown eyes narrowed. She had half a mind to refuse him, but knew all too well that there wasn't much in the way of fresh food currently in the fridge. Even if he only wanted to go for the press, she _would_ have a much better feed if she went along with it...

And so, a short while later, Hermione sat in Voldemort's favourite cafe off of Diagon Alley, smiling happily down at her remaining slice of French toast.

It had definitely been the right decision.

Finishing the toast was an easy task, one which she accomplished in a much shorter time than the man sitting across from her. She tried not to stare while he ate, instead choosing to watch her orange juice swirl around her glass hypnotically as she stirred with her plastic straw. As she stirred, focusing intently on a particularly large chunk of pulp, she began to hatch a plan.

She made the safe assumption that like most men, he would be in a happier mood once he was finished eating. As such, she waited patiently for her moment to strike, leaning into the table intently. Seeing him bite down into what looked like the last bite-sized portion, she unleashed.

"I was thinking..." She began quietly.

"Hmm?" He sounded as he took the final bite of his breakfast.

"About our lessons..." she went on, ignoring the soft sound of impatience he made. "I was really hoping we could move on. I've been practicing non-stop, and I'm almost running out of spells. I thought, while things in the office are quiet, and we have more spare time-"

He finished his bite slowly as she spoke, taking his sweet time before meeting her eyes. "I've already told you," he eventually interrupted. "You need proficiency before we move on."

"I am proficient."

A long dark eyebrow arched elegantly.

"I _am,_ " she insisted. "I've jumped all of your hurdles, with ease."

"Need I remind you of the incident the other week?"

_The Fiendfyre?_

"That's different. _Many_ witches and wizards of high calibre struggle with F-" she broke off, turning to see that there was no one with in proximity to hear their conversation, "- _that. Great_ witches and wizards. It's a non-essential."

"It without doubt _is_ essential," he countered. "It shows that you're not ready to move on."

" _Hardly!_ "

"Tell me," he started, shifting his now empty plate aside to lean across the table towards her. "What is it that makes you so eager?"

She subconsciously pulled her lower lip between her teeth.

" _Hmm?_ " He pressed, shifting closer still.

Hermione almost had to double-take, his expression was so deceptive. A slight smile on the corner of his lips, his eyebrows curved in a warm, concerned fashion. To anyone else, he would seem warm, _caring_ , and it almost had her, _almost._ She was sure had she been in the same state of fogginess she had been in a week ago, she would have believed; but it was his eyes that gave him away, the way they bored into her own, their brown depths suddenly seeming bottomless, and if she wasn't careful, she could easily become lost in them. Although warm in colour, they were cold; they were lures, lures to which even the strongest of souls had given into.

The sudden soft pressure of a fingertip on the back of her hand almost made her jump, and she was grateful for the distraction. She averted her gaze, watching his perfectly manicured nails as his hand snaked over her own as she tried to keep an empty mind.

But Occlumency had never been her strong suit.

"Even if I taught you, do you really think you could do it?" He began in a smooth whisper. "Kill a man?"

She turned further, choosing to watch the waitress behind the counter on the far side of the room as she furiously spelled the mugs of coffee in front of her, warming them, presumably.

"Do you really think you could kill me?" Her stomach tightened at his whispered words, his fingertips drawing patterns on her skin. "When so many others before you have failed?"

Her fingers itched to pull away from his hand, to remove any contact between them.

"Why are you teaching me, then?" She asked quietly, focusing back to their hands. "If you know what I want-"

"I like you," he said simply. "I thought as much was rather obvious."

She couldn't withhold the soft snort that escaped her. "You don't _like_ anyone."

"Do you presume to know me so well?"

"Yes. _Yes,_ I've known you long enough to know that."

"Perhaps you're wrong," he said, his gentle tone drawing her eyes back up.

And there it was again. The warmth that she knew wasn't real, yet seemed so convincingly genuine.

She stared incredulously. "Stop that."

Amusement lit up his dark eyes. "Stop what?"

"That. _This_ ," she said firmly, gesturing to his hand covering hers with her eyes. "This doesn't mean anything."

"Doesn't it?"

" _No_ ," she insisted. Although she wasn't sure it was him she was trying to convince.

"Then, what's stopping you?" He continued, holding her eye contact. "You have a knife just there, a wand easily accessible in your pocket. You don't need the Killing Curse to reach the same outcome, you know that. Who knows, maybe you'll even succeed. Why don't you do it?"

Her lips tightened as she averted her eyes once more.

" _Hermione?_ "

"Because -"

"Yes?"

"I'm not like you."

"I think we're far more alike than you're willing to admit."

"And I think you're wrong."

She risked a glance back up hearing his soft breath of laughter.

"You won't do it, because this means something to you," he stated softly, his hand tightening around hers.

"It _means_ I have a teacher," she conceded. "That's it."

The corner of his mouth tilted upward.

"It's alright to admit it."

"There's nothing to admit."

"It's only natural, after all."

" _Can we go now?_ "

He chuckled as he grinned and dropped his gaze to her lips. "You truly are beautiful when you're angry."

*

"Is that...?" Ginny pondered as she frowned toward a couple sat by the far window of the cafe. "Should we go and join them?"

"What?" Harry asked as he followed her eye line, quickly realising who the couple were. "Gin, _no_ , let's just go somewhere else."

"Oh, don't be such a sook," she said. "We should be spending more time with Hermione. Besides, I spoke with Tom Riddle for a year, and so far, I've only spoken to _Ben_ twice, and briefly at that. It'd be helpful to get a feel of what he's like, right?"

"We've already established that he's a prat," Harry said snarkily. "Come on, let's just go."

Ginny rolled her eyes and began in their direction, pulling her reluctant husband along behind her.

They were both leaning onto the small table, in what looked like a tense conversation. Ginny hesitated, not wanting to interrupt them if they were bickering, but, seeing the grin on Ben's face and their hands entwined across the table, she assumed it couldn't have been too bad and continued in their direction.

"- _such_ an _arse_ ," Hermione was saying in a hushed tone.

Ben noticed them before Hermione did, his dark eyes flickering up before the couple had reached them. He didn't reply to what Hermione was saying, and leaned back into his chair, pulling his hand back as he did so and focused on the approaching couple.

Seeing his attention focused behind her, Hermione turned at the very moment Ginny reached her.

"Hello!" Ginny said brightly. "We saw you two from the street. Do you mind if we join you?"

"Actually, we were just about to -"

"Of course not!" Hermione said, cutting off whatever the man across from her was about to say in her eagerness to escape her current conversation. "We can stay another half hour, right?"

Ben _almost_ looked like he wanted to disagree before he gave her a forced smile. "Sure."

Hermione smiled warmly at Ginny, who took up the seat to her left, while Ben rested his jaw on his hand and rubbed his stubble with his index finger. It seemed an innocent enough action, a movement that seemed to be absentminded. But to someone who had spent so much time with him, it was a clear sign of his irritation.

Harry loudly took up the seat to her right and settled almost on the edge of his seat, visibly closer to Hermione than Ben.

An uncomfortable silence fell over the table, Ginny struggling to think of how to start up a conversation. Glancing between Hermione and her boyfriend, it very quickly became clear that they had indeed, intruded on a tense discussion.

Hermione glanced up as the tension at the table grew awkward, to see Voldemort flag down a waitress.

"Could we get a long black, and a cappuccino with two sugars?" He asked quietly before turning to Ginny. "Anything for you?"

"Just a menu, please," Ginny answered quickly.

The waitress nodded and scurried off, the tension quickly returning.

Noticing Ginny absentmindedly rubbing her torso, Hermione pounced. "You're due this month, aren't you? Do you have a date?"

"Yes!" Ginny said excitedly. "Next Thursday, it’s come so fast. I'm so excited to meet her..."

"'Her'?"

"Well, I _think_ it's a her," she explained with a laugh. "Harry's convinced it’s another boy, but I just have a feeling."

"With kicks that strong, it has to be a boy," Harry said.

"You'll have to come over to meet her," Ginny said quickly, not paying mind to her husband's stern look.

"I would love that!" Hermione said brightly. "How do you think James will go?"

"It might be a shock not being the favourite anymore, but he'll just have to get used to it," she said with a laugh, one which he noticed was met with a tight smile from Ben.

"Not one for children?" Ginny asked.

He smiled. "Am I that obvious?"

Ginny didn't miss the slight roll of Harry's eyes, and responded by digging her heel into his foot.

"They're not for everyone," Ginny said politely.

Hermione didn't miss her sympathetic glance in her direction.

*

She'd expected for him to be put out with her after their breakfast, but Hermione was glad to find that she got off lightly. Apart from a simple comment about Ginny's strong ability to talk, Voldemort stayed quiet about her friends and didn't bring it up again for the rest of the day.

_To keep her happy for the meeting that night, no doubt._

Come her second visit to the Goyle house, Hermione reached a state of nervousness which was possibly worse than the first time. She was sure Draco and Lucius would be in attendance that evening, and she had no idea how it would pan out.

_Would they say anything? Would they know what she'd done, tortured a man to insanity? Voldemort had said it himself; Draco was a wildcard, and unlike her, he wasn't under a vow of silence. What if he spoke to Harry?_

Still, she kept her concerns bottled up and allowed Voldemort to apparate them to the old house. If he noticed her sweaty palms, he didn't comment on them. This time, as they slipped into the house from the courtyard, they ran into two other attendees on their way in, and Hermione was met with a look that could kill from the shorter man.

"My Lord," the taller man Hermione recognised as Noel greeted with a bow of his head, the shorter man quickly following suit.

"McCready," Voldemort said politely in greeting, "Travers."

He gestured for them to lead on, and followed a short distance behind them, Hermione in tow. She felt the feather-light touch of his fingertips on her lower back as he moved in closer.

"Don't mind Travers," he said lowly. "He finds you intimidating."

The laugh that escaped her was louder than she'd intended on, the sound echoing through the long upper hallway and attracting the attention of the men ahead of them. Seeing Voldemort grinning at Hermione, they sent each other a quick questioning glance before entering the meeting room.

Hermione and Voldemort entered moments later, and much like the last meeting, the attendees stood upon their entrance. Hermione's attention was drawn to the two men at the end like magnets. Recognisable by their distinctive hair alone, the Malfoys stood slightly later than the others, Draco keeping his eyes firmly focused on the polished table. Lucius, however, looked up to them, almost double taking as he met her eyes.

Hermione hurried over to the vacant place to the left of the end of the table, grateful for the fact that she could sit without creating the spectacle of anyone else moving for her.

The room's occupants sat simultaneously, Voldemort remaining standing behind his chair.

The next time Hermione looked up, Draco's grey eyes were focused on her.

"I am glad to see you back with us, Lucius, Draco," he began softly. "We are once again, so very near to a full table..."

He trailed off, his eyes focusing on the empty seat at the other head of the table.

"Once Rosier is released, we shall be ready," he continued. "But until then, there remain ends in need of tying. Dolohov," he said deeply, stepping around to her side of the table. "Stand."

Hermione didn't miss the smug look on her face as she did as instructed, bowing her head in the process.

"Give me your arm," he said, stepping closer.

Pure awe was clear as day in the short woman's eyes as she held out her left arm in his direction. He supported her arm from underneath with one hand, while he pushed up her sleeve to reveal a very pale arm with the other. Quickly, he'd taken his wand out and pressed the tip into her almost translucent skin. His eyes flicked up to meet Dolohov's before he lowly muttered an incantation that Hermione couldn't quite make out, but sounded awfully similar ' _morsmordre_ '.

Dolohov let out a small sound as her eyes rolled back into her head, and Hermione noticed the way Voldemort's grip under her arm tightened, keeping her in place while what looked like black ink snaked under her skin. The way Dolohov shook made it clear that the marking was painful, even as she tried to restrain herself from showing it.

Once he was done, he pulled his wand away from her skin and held onto her arm, pulling her closer to admire his wand work. The process itself didn't take long, and Hermione found herself slightly impressed with the speed of it.

" _Magnificent,_ " he whispered, so quietly that the room had to strain to hear it.

Seeming satisfied, he released her arm, and turned to the man seated next to Hermione.

"Noel, you next."

Voldemort made his way around the table, marking all in attendance save Hermione, Draco, Lucius, and Florian. Once he was finished, he moved back up to the head, and leaned against the back of the large chair, capturing the attention of all of the attendees.

"Tonight, will be remembered as a historic moment," he stated quietly, captivatingly. " _The night the Death Eaters rose again_."

A select few at the table smiled at his words, nodding in agreement, and Hermione didn't miss the fact that Lucius did not was not one of them.

"But, My Lord, what of _her?_ " Dolohov's high voice echoed through the room, Hermione's head snapping up at her words. The other woman was staring, a sneer forming on her lips. She met her eyes stubbornly.

_No. She would not take the mark. She was not a Death Eater, she would never be a Death Eater. Not matter what, she would not, she could not -_

"Ms. Granger is far too high in her position with the Ministry to bear my mark," he answered softly, and Hermione almost slumped in her chair from relief.

"And Noel is not?" Dolohov continued.

"No," he said sternly, as if daring her to continue.

Her lips thinned, but the blonde woman seemed to know not to push her luck by arguing.

"Florian, I wish for you to stay. The rest of you may leave us."

Assuming his instruction included her, Hermione rose from her chair to leave. As she stepped out, Voldemort's long fingers snaked around her wrist to stop her.

"I won't be long," He said softly, turning his head up to meet her eyes. "Just wait outside in the corridor. Don't wander."

She nodded, eager to get out of there.

She did as he said, and waited in the hall opposite the door. As the others filed out after her, they stared; some out of curiosity, others out of spite.

The last two out of the meeting room, having sat furthest away from the door, were Draco and his father. Lucius scowled in her direction as immediately strode away, while Draco stopped in front of her and watched his father leave.

Once the hallway was empty save for them, and the door to the meeting room had safely fallen shut, he asked the question everyone in the room had been thinking. "What are you doing here?"

"What does it look like I'm doing here?" She asked, raising an eyebrow in a way that would have made Voldemort proud.

"I know you're not here by choice, I'm not a _moron_. What I mean is, _why_ are you here? What's he have on you? What's keeping you here?"

She pursed her lips and looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. Draco now knew the truth, knew who Voldemort was, and was sworn to loyalty in a similar manner to herself. The vow permitted her to talk to him, didn't it?

And if there was one thing she desperately needed, it was someone to talk to.

"A vow," she said at last.

"Unbreakable?"

She nodded.

"Ouch," he commented. "He threaten your family?"

She averted her eyes down the corridor, watching the empty space. "Yes."

Draco stepped around and leaned against the wall next to her.

"He didn't mention Potter a single time in there. Was that a condition of your vow? That he finally leave him alone?"

"He'll leave the _Weasleys_ alone. I take that to mean it includes Harry, now that he's married in," she explained.

Draco nodded.

"The seat to his left. That's where Severus would have sat. Or, Aunt Bella, depending on the occasion," he commented with furrowed eyebrows. "You seem to be the new favourite."

Just then, the sound of raised muffled voices followed by a loud bang echoed from the meeting room through the hall. Draco winced at the sound.

"Unfortunately," she stated dryly.

"The Daily Prophet doesn't paint the picture as 'unfortunately'."

"Yes," she said with a scoff, "he wants us to look _happy_ , and -" she broke off suddenly. "Never mind, I shouldn't be telling you this."

"We're all in the same boat here," he commented bringing his arm back to rest his head on his hand against the wall.

"Draco?" Hermione started after a moment, seeing the hollowness of his cheeks and the dark rings beneath his eyes. "I - I was sorry to hear about your mother," she said sincerely.

He snorted and looked down the hall.

"Yeah," he said lowly.

She looked up questioningly, but was interrupted by the meeting room door bursting open. Voldemort emerged alone, and his attention quickly focused on Draco, his stare hardening.

Draco jumped and pushed off of the wall. Without a word, he turned and left them alone, leaving in the same direction as his father had. Voldemort watched him leave with flared nostrils.

"Come," he said suddenly, taking hold of her elbow and pulling her the opposite way. She winced at his grip.

"How did it go?" She asked, quickly looking back to see if Florian had emerged yet.

He hadn't.

" _Peachy_."

*

Days later, Lucius Malfoy apparated onto the front porch of a large white Townhouse. He folded up the small piece of parchment with the address on it and tucked it into his pocket before approaching the door. It only took a matter of seconds for the door to swing open after he knocked, the bushy haired witch answering.

Her shoulders slumped as she took him in, sheepishly averting her eyes. Without saying anything, she pulled the door open wider, and gestured for him to enter.

"Upstairs. Second door on the left," she said quietly before disappearing down the hall.

He watched her retreating form with pursed lips before following her instructions.

Lucius made his way in after knocking and a muffled "enter," came from the room.

"Ah, Lucius," Voldemort said from behind a large, mahogany desk, in the midst of scrawling a long letter. "Sit."

Lucius sat uncomfortably as the scratching of his quill filled the silence.

"I trust there are no hard feelings," Voldemort started without looking up from his work.

"No, my Lord," Lucius said quietly after a short pause.

"You understand why I did what I did? You understand that you gave me no other option?" Voldemort continued, putting his quill down at last.

Lucius exhaled slowly through his nose before meeting the other man's eyes. Though they were no longer red, they were just as cold as he remembered. "Yes, my Lord."

Voldemort studied him silently.

"Good," he eventually said before shuffling through the papers to find a parchment envelope. He slid it across the desk toward Lucius. "These are the vault details of the accounts. I need them withdrawn. One-by-one, as to not draw any unnecessary attention to them."

Lucius swallowed. "Yes, my Lord. Though, you are aware that the Ministry will be paying close attention to anything I do at present."

"You worry about the accounts, I will handle the Ministry."

He nodded, and turned behind him to check that the door was closed.

"What troubles you?" Voldemort asked at his movement.

"I-nothing, my Lord."

"Spit it out."

Lucius shifted uncomfortably.

"She... the Granger girl... I just can't understand... what are you doing with her?"

Voldemort shrugged and started skimming over his letter. "She will be useful."

Lucius frowned. "She's not Bella."

His eyes snapped up. "I am well aware of who she is, Lucius."

"Apologies," he said quickly. "It's just... I can't help but see... similarities."

Voldemort sighed and laced his hands together, leaning back in his chair to give Lucius his full attention.

"She will be Minister," he stated, causing Lucius' frown to deepen. "Soon, Shacklebolt will be out of the way, and there will be a vote. I have the numbers, and I will ensure that she will be the one to win it."

"But don't you think that y-"

"No. My position has not changed. I do not want it. I don't have the time, nor do I have the patience. It won't be difficult to have her elected, and it will be a much better set up having someone I can control in the position."

"You think you can control her?"

"I know I can," Voldemort said, leaning forward. "You saw her participation in our meeting, you've heard of what she did to Aldridge. I already _do_ control her."

Lucius swallowed audibly.

"The people love her. They trust her. She's a _muggleborn._ With the current state of politics, they will not question her motives the way they'd question a pureblood, or even a half-blood for that matter."

Lucius bit his lip, pondering what he'd been told.

"You still don't think I'm right?"

"I - Granger is _stubborn._ Draco is convinced she's still maintaining her ties to Potter, _strong_ ties. I would be highly surprised if she doesn't prove to be a problem down the track."

"She's in love with me."

"Did you not learn with Bella that sometimes, that's not the best way to do things?" Lucius asked before he could stop himself.

"Hermione and Bella are in two different _leagues_ , I have been far more careful this time around. I pushed Bella too far, I'm the first one to admit that. But Hermione is stronger, far more intelligent, she will not break in the same way."

"You sound smitten."

"Get out."

" _Apologies_ , My Lord, I simply -"

"I don't care, get out."

Lucius bit his tongue and bowed his head before leaving. The door softly closed behind him, and Voldemort closed his eyes in irritation.

_Smitten._

Voldemort scoffed as he lifted his quill, and resumed writing his letter.

_Fucking moron._

*

"And you're sure she said to meet _here?_ " Ron asked incredulously, looking around the small bar. The bar reminded Ron an awful lot of his old bedroom at the Burrow. Overfilled with belongings, which were placed tidily, while the dusting and actual cleaning didn't seem to have been done in a very long time.

"Yes," Harry insisted. "Toward the back."

Ron shrugged and followed Harry through past the tables, tucking his broad shoulders in on the way as he carefully tried not to knock anything over on his way through.

In the back of the room, hidden by a very large cupboard, was a booth, lined with a red leather curved seat. Sitting in the centre with her arms outstretched along the backs of the seats was a tall, slim, old woman.

"Mr. Potter," the old woman greeted without question, slowly rising to her feet. "Come on through."

Harry shrugged as Ron looked at him questioningly, before following after the woman. She waved them through the 'staff only' door into a space that opened up into the kitchens. The two men followed, Harry warily placing his hand to his back pocket, ready to draw his wand should the need arise.

"You are Maeve?" Harry asked once the door had closed and the three of them were alone.

"Yes."

The kitchen, much like the front of the bar, was a cluttered mess. A production line of dishes to one side were being cleaned by a line-up of bewitched sponges and towels, before being piled up in clean stacks. The pots and pans being scrubbed were quite loud, the taps running making it difficult for Ron to hear Harry and Maeve's exchange of pleasantries.

Ron scanned the room, his eyes quickly being drawn to the long bench on the far wall, filled with buckets. There was an open patch of bench toward the end, and on it sat a mound of grey _sludge._

"What is _that?_ " Ron couldn't help but ask, his eyes almost bulging from their sockets.

"You'll find that the individual proteins, carbohydrates, and fats you need to make any dish are far cheaper than the ingredients themselves," the woman said, before waving her wand intricately. "Transfiguring them is far simpler than cooking from scratch."

The sludge moved, hovering over toward the line of sinks on the other side of the kitchen before settling down onto a freshly cleaned plate that lay waiting. It warped, twisting off to form multiple small bundles instead of a large single one, and with a final wave of the woman's wand, the sludge slowly morphed into a dish of roasted lamb sided with vegetables.

" _Bloody hell_ ," Ron muttered as his eyes widened, silently vowing to never eat in this particular bar.

"Now, Mr. Potter," Maeve started, drawing the men's eyes back to her. "I believe you had some questions to discuss, regarding Tom Riddle?"

"Oh, right - yes," he said quickly, pulling out a rolled sheet of parchment from his pocket along with a quill. "You've had contact with him before, as you said in your letter? When was the last time you saw him?"

"Almost eight years ago. He came here, wand flailing, demanding answers."

"Answers to what?"

"He wanted information about the entity known simply as _Death_."

Harry frowned and scribbled onto the parchment. "When exactly was this?"

"May. After the fiasco at that school."

"Why would he come to _you?_ "

The old woman looked between Ron and Harry for a moment before she turned away, moving across the kitchen to start putting the clean dishes away by hand. "Tom and I went to school together, and he had long been aware of my gifts with the Sight. When he came here, I was unable to offer him much in the way of advice, and I suspect he was desperate. He wouldn't have come hunting _me_ down otherwise."

"You didn't come forward to the Ministry after this happened?"

"We had a deal," she said, her tone low. "I would keep what I knew to myself, as long as he left me alone, and he stayed _gone._ He refused to make a solid vow, and now, as far as I'm concerned, he has broken that deal. As a result, I have come to you."

"And have you seen him again, since he has returned?"

"No," she said quickly, "I have not. But my young nephew... I have my concerns for him."

"Your nephew?"

"Noel McCready."

Ron stood a bit straighter, drawing Harry's attention. "You know him?"

"Yeah!" He said brightly. "Works for the Ministry?"

The woman nodded.

"I used to run into him in the elevators an awful lot, he works down in... in... _let me think..._ "

"Security," the Maeve finished for him.

"Yeah!" Ron agreed. "Down in Interrogations? He's one of the security guards for the detainees. He's always been a bit slimy, if you ask me... no offence..."

"So, you think he's now following Lord Voldemort?"

Maeve didn't flinch at the name. "Yes."

"Why would you think that?"

"He told me," she said simply with a raise of her shoulders. "He told the whole family. He's very proud, you see. My sister and her husband assumed it was another one of his _stories_ , but... I don't think he's lying. He's always been more like me than his mother, always a bit _too_ interested in nonconventional magic. That, and with word of Tom's return to Britain... no, I don't think he's lying."

Harry nodded, scratching down notes onto the parchment as he did so. "You call him Tom," Harry commented.

"As I said, we went to school together, in the same year at that. I was Head Girl," she said softly. "I wouldn't have said we were _friends_ , but it was hard to share a common room with him without learning a thing or two about the type of person he was."

Ron jumped at a sudden thought, drawing his hand into his pocket to bring out a page from a past copy of the Daily Prophet.

"Is - do you recognise this man?" He asked, offering her the page.

She took it and stared down at it for a short while, the echoing of the scrubbing of the dishes seeming to grow louder.

"That's your friend, isn't it? Hermione Granger?" Maeve suddenly asked, pointing to the woman in the photograph who stood smiling up at the taller man.

"My wi-" Ron broke off to correct himself, "- yeah. I mean, it is."

Maeve looked up to meet his eyes, her expression becoming sympathetic.

"You fear for her?"

Harry nodded, while Ron repeated, "yes."

Maeve nodded and handed the page back to Ron.

"You should."


	21. A New Order

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to everyone who left me feedback! I don't care if I sound like a broken record, you're all amazing and I love you!  
> ❤️

A large group of witches and wizards sat around the long kitchen table of The Burrow. There were too many present for the table setting, and as a result, some of the guests ended up conjuring their own chairs, while others opted to stand behind.

At the head of the table sat Minerva McGonagall, with Professors Flitwick and Longbottom to her left. Further to his left sat Luna and Rolf Scamander, who in turn were next to Bill and Fleur Weasley. On the other side of the table sat George and Angelina, next to Arthur and Molly Weasley, followed by Percy and his wife Lucy, with Ginny rocking a tiny red-haired baby to their right. Behind Ginny stood Seamus Finnigan and his wife Isobel, with two of the more senior members of the group, Mundungus Fletcher and Sturgis Podmore leaning against the far wall. By the other wall stood an eclectic mix of new comers. There was George's other shop assistant, Hugo; the old woman known simply as Maeve; and Arthur's new work mates Ophelia Lincoln and Vince Davies. The group was to the left of Hagrid, who had a small couch conjured for him.

Charlie had chosen to remain in the living room with the growing group of children. When questioned on his ability so watch so many small people under the age of five simultaneously, Charlie retorted with a smart, "if I can handle a litter of dragons, then I can handle this!" No one had argued with this logic, although many silently doubted his abilities, for it was well known that Teddy Lupin, who had just turned eight this year, was growing up to be quite the handful.

The other head of the table opposite Professor McGonagall had been left vacant, and in the open space stood Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, shoulder to shoulder.

As Ron called the small crowd to attention, close to all of the attendees had the same silent question, though none of them dared to ask it.

_Where was Hermione Granger and Kingsley Shacklebolt?_

"I wanted to start with a big thanks to everyone for coming, it really means a lot that you've taken the time. As I said in my letters, I've called you all here today, for a very important meeting," Harry begun, receiving an encouraging glance from his wife. "The time has come for the Order of the Phoenix to regroup. _Fully_. This turn out," he started, gesturing around the room, "is amazing, honestly, and if any of you have any trustworthy family or friends that would join us, please, let me know and bring them along."

He took a deep breath and felt warmed by the encouraging glances from most of those in the room.

"Voldemort, and his Death Eaters are regrouping, and -"

"There aren't any Death Eaters left," Mundungus immediately interrupted.

"- and are planning something big," Harry continued, flat-out ignoring Mundungus' opposition. "We have increasing word of their movements, through both Ministry sources, and otherwise."

Ron sent a glance over to Maeve from the corner of his eye.

"Although through different methods to eight years ago, we believe he's attempting to take the Ministry, as he did last time," Harry stated confidently. "It is _pivotal_ that we start working against them now, while their movements are still small enough to be stopped."

"Then why is Kingsley not here?" Percy asked, his wife nodding alongside him. "If it as you suspect, don't you think he should be the first to know?"

"Kingsley has already been informed of our suspicions," Harry said. "He's chosen not to act, so... that leaves us."

"You're still convinced it's Jenkins?" Bill asked before Percy had the chance.

Ophelia and Vince sent questioning looks toward Arthur as the room quietened.

"Yes."

"You think _Jenkins_ is working for You-Know-Who?" Vince asked incredulously.

"No, not exactly," said Harry. "I think Jenkins _is_ Voldemort."

The room fell silent.

"We have _evidence,_ " Harry said pre-emptively, opening a copy of Rita Skeeter's biography and turning to page twenty-eight. He spun the book around and slid it down the table for those sitting to inspect. "The image on the lower left. Tom Riddle. _Voldemort._ "

Harry stepped back and plucked a recent copy of the Daily Prophet off of the bookshelf behind him and pulled it open to page four. "The image on the right," he said, pointing to a photograph from one of the Department's most recent press releases. "Benjamin Jenkins."

Those who hadn't previously heard Harry's theories shuffled in to huddle around the table to inspect the images, the book and the newspaper slowly being passed around the room.

"Do you happen to have a better photo, Harry?" Luna asked politely as she passed the biography down the table. "This one is rather blurry."

"No," he said grimly. "That's probably the best photo of Tom Riddle left in existence. But I have witnesses who can attest to the similarities between Voldemort and Jenkins, myself included."

From the side of the room, Vince let out a nervous laugh. "D-do you have anything else?"

All of the heads in the room turned to him, and his confidence deflated slightly. He'd feared the meeting would turn this way.

"Not yet. But that's why we're here."

A few of the attendees sent questioning glances between themselves.

"Lucius Malfoy," Harry stated, leaning forward to place his palms flat on the table. "He's our ticket. As one of the few remaining _known_ Death Eaters, we need a watch on-"

"He's out on parole. The Ministry already _is_ watching him," Ophelia pointed out.

"But not well enough," Harry countered. "We not only need to question him again, but we need eyes and ears on him at _all times_. The death of Narcissa was entirely too suspicious. We think it was a punishment... perhaps for their leaving at the battle," he explained, using Hermione's words. "I'm certain he's back in contact with Voldemort. He has to be."

Arthur sat up straighter. "I'll do it."

"I'll help," George volunteered at once.

"Excellent," said Harry, his spirits lifting at the show of support. "Ron and I will increase the surveillance on Voldemort himself, and I ask those of you who work within the Ministry to do the same, and keep your ears open. With any luck, we'll manage to catch him in the act of... _something._ Anything to put him away, really."

"But, what about Hermione?" Luna asked, asking what many were thinking.

A loud silence followed her question.

"We... we're not sure where she stands, yet," he said grimly, before quickly changing the subject. "Next, we need feelers. Those of you who are unknown as Order members; Seamus and Isobel, Ophelia, Vince, Hugo, Rolf - if any of you would volunteer -"

"I'll do it," Seamus announced immediately.

"-that would be perfect. We need you to ask around, find out what you can from _underground_ sources. Act interested in joining them, like a prospective member. We don't currently know who might be running in Voldemort's circles, but the remaining pureblood families will probably be our best bet," Harry explained. "This might be the hardest task I ask of any of you, so before you agree, I want you to be _sure_ of what you're doing."

"I'll do it," Seamus reaffirmed.

"And me," Isobel said, taking her husband's hand.

"And me," said Rolf.

"Me too," Hugo added.

Ophelia and Vince glanced at each other guardedly and stayed silent.

"That-that's great, really. I truly can't thank you enough," Harry said earnestly before looking down to the end of the table. "Next, Minerva, Filius, Neville, Hagrid - we need you to keep your ears open at Hogwarts. If you hear anything from students, any bragging or - or _threats_ , please, take them seriously, and get as much information out of them as you can."

"Certainly," McGonagall said with a sight tip of her head, Hagrid, Neville, and Filius all nodding along with her.

"Excellent. And one last thing," Harry went on, his voice becoming sterner. "A word of caution. We currently do not know who can be trusted within the Ministry. We don't know how many may be under Voldemort's influence already. I'm not saying, go to work and question your co-workers, but... it is imperative that you be careful of who you talk to, and who you trust."

*

Hermione stifled a laugh as she looked up across the table to see Voldemort roll his eyes.

"- protocol is simply not being followed. We've had _six_ detainees in the last _month_ with incorrectly filled out paper work," Janice, the office receptionist was saying. "Insufficient information is being listed under 'reason for holding', security guard rostering isn't being acceptably filled in, and in some cases, it isn't being listed at all!"

Hermione gave the woman her best sympathetic look. "Of course, Janice. We'll look into implementing a refresher course for the staff who have been causing these problems," she offered, jotting it down to remind herself in her notebook, even though she suspected the cases of incorrect security reporting were entirely the fault of her _boss._

"Thank you," the older woman said, taking in a deep breath to start again. "In other matters, we've also been having some issues in the staff room. The low-fat milk on the third shelf is _not_ for communal use, and it's - _is something funny?_ "

"Oh - no, my apologies," Voldemort quickly said, clearing his throat to cover his soft snort. "Please, do go on."

Sending him a cold glance, the woman turned back to the others in attendance of the departmental meeting.

"- _And,_ I'm getting sick and tired of people taking what doesn't belong to them. It's rude and it isn't..."

Hermione's eyes glazed over as the woman continued to rant. Under normal circumstances, she would quite enjoy their monthly departmental meetings. The gathering was always a good opportunity to vent one’s grievances, to offer training where it was needed, and to ensure that their staff were following correct protocol. But today, in her magic-induced state of restlessness along with Harry's watchful eye on her, she found herself silently agreeing with Voldemort's many not-so-subtle eye rolls and wishing Janice would just hurry it up so they could go their own way already.

Once the meeting was finally drawn to a close, Hermione waited until they were safely out of anyone's earshot to lightly whack Voldemort on the arm.

"You didn't have to _laugh_ at her," she scolded Voldemort on the way out from the meeting, making the journey back to their office side by side.

"Like _you_ were enthralled," he said dryly.

"The meeting may have been a little bit stale," she admitted, "but that's no reason to be _rude._ "

"Please, if I were being _rude_ , the meeting would have been far more enjoyable."

She scoffed.

"And then, I'd never have to hear her insufferably shrill voice again," he added lowly, for her ears only.

She gave him a second whack on the arm, harder than the first one. "You can't be so... _blasé_ about these things."

He laughed, trailing his hand against her lower back as he headed past their office toward the staff room, while she ducked inside.

His smile remained in place as he rounded the next corner toward reception, happy to _finally_ be free to get the coffee he'd been thinking about for the last hour and a half. He slowed down, however, as he reached the front desk and stopped to greet the man he found in conversation with their junior receptionist.

"Mr. Weasley," he greeted politely. His relationship with the Head of Magical Transportation had been tense after Hermione and Ron had split up, leaving him with no choice but to slowly work his way back into Percy's good books; it was his signature that signed off on their international Portkey requests, after all. "What brings you up to level two this afternoon?"

Percy quickly straightened and visibly blanched at his greeting, and Voldemort did not miss the way his eyes widened.

"Oh. I have a meeting with Harry at three," he said quickly as he checked his wristwatch, which read two fifty-six. "Ah, and would you look at that? I-I should head in, I don't want to keep him waiting."

"Potter is just coming out of another meeting. No need to hurry, he should be along any minute," Voldemort advised helpfully.

Percy shifted nervously. "Still. I should get going," he said, moving to leave in the direction of the Auror office.

"Mr. Weasley?" He tried again, Percy stopping in his tracks. Voldemort's eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he met the man's wary eyes. "Are you alright?"

"Yes. Yes, fine," Percy said all too quickly, averting his gaze. "If you'd excuse me."

He turned and headed out of the corridor in a hurry, Voldemort narrowing his eyes suspiciously as he watched his tall form retreat and disappear into the office. He'd gotten anger, resentment, and even jealously from Weasley before, but this was the first time he'd seen _fear._

_He'd have to look into that._

_Fucking Weasleys._

With his mood quickly deteriorating, Voldemort sent a forced smile to the receptionist and ducked into the near-empty staff room and summoned a mug to make himself a coffee. With a devious smirk, he checked behind him to make sure that no one was watching, before taking the milk from the third shelf down and adding a dash to his coffee.

*

A few days later, Hermione could be found sitting in the centre of Voldemort's back lawn, her legs crossed underneath her. With her eyes firmly closed, she put all of her energy into feeling out for her own magic. It responded with a pleasant thrum within her chest, in her arms, in her legs. She could feel it all over on the surface of her skin, its warmth feeling like static.

_It was everywhere._

Keeping her eyes shut and the firm connection with her magic intact, Hermione slowly stood and took hold of her wand. The wooden stick felt like an extension of herself, the dragon heartstrings in its core greeting her familiarly at her touch. She stood still, taking a deep breath as she allowed her muscles to relax before she raised the wand.

" _Azrethis,_ " she cast.

She could _feel_ the fire as it left her wand, it's heat recoiling up her forearm pleasantly.

Remembering what Voldemort had advised, she stopped casting after the first creature had manifested within the flames - in this case, a large bear. It had been a dangerous decision for her to have cast the spell while he wasn't with her, she knew that. But in her mind, it was the last hurdle, the _final hurdle_ she needed to jump, and she needed to do it on her own.

_She needed to prove to herself that she was ready._

Despite how easy Voldemort had previously made it look, controlling the Fiendfyre's direction and size took a gruelling amount of effort. It wasn't long before her muscles began to ache, and she felt the sweat beading on her forehead, the heat radiating from the creature not helping in the slightest.

She winced as she tried to force the bear to the left, the creature getting perilously close to the bulk of the garden. A wave of triumph washed over her as she managed to ignore her growing fatigue and turned the bear around, preventing it from setting her favourite log aflame.

But, the hardest part was now before her - _putting the fire out._

She let out a yell as she forced the bear into the open space of the centre of the yard. She'd figured that without anything to help fuel the fire, it would be a simpler matter of putting it out. But the bear had other ideas, roaring in protest and sending a large flame out in her direction. The flames licked her forearm of her wand arm, and although it didn't immediately hurt too much, she knew she'd be in agony the next day.

After a quick glance at her sleeve to make sure she wasn't on fire, she struggled as she put her all into shrinking its flames. She slumped in relief as the fire slowly began to dissipate, the lawn it had passed over reduced to ash and dirt. She dropped to her knees where she stood once it had safely vanished and wiped the sweat from her forehead, feeling completely overwhelmed from what she'd just done.

She panted as the drowsiness and the bliss from the magic weaved together like a fine fabric and began to weigh down on her, preventing her from moving.

If it weren't for the darkening sky above her, she wouldn't have had a clue as to how she remained kneeling in the dirt, head spinning. Eventually, once the night's air grew crisp and her muscles felt up to it, she managed to stumble inside and allowed herself to fall back onto the couch as the rush of pleasure continued to engulf her. She ran her hands over her arms in an attempt to sate the prickling of the magic, and almost _moaned_ at the feeling of the chills her own touch gave her.

She knew Voldemort felt the effects of his magic use; he'd all but told her as much. But she couldn't help but wonder whether the magic affected him _this_ way, too? Whether it warmed the pit of his stomach as strongly as it warmed hers? Twice, he'd killed, and after both times he'd seemed to _crave_ her touch, after all.

A loud snort escaped her as her thoughts lingered on it. _Trust him to get horny from committing murder._

She made a hazy mental note to find out before she shifted to lay down horizontally on the large couch. She made a soft sound of contentment as her head sunk down into the pillow of the couch, feeling almost like it was all that was holding her in place.

_Had this couch always been so soft? Perhaps it had been charmed that way. Soft as a pillow, soft as a cloud, soft as a sunrise..._

"...did you do?"

_...soft as snow, soft as Crookshanks' fur, soft as a bed of feathers..._

"Hermione?"

She smiled as she lay spinning on the couch, hearing the hazy, smooth voice, knowing that _he_ had said something, but unable to make out the words.

_He, both the bane and the current light of her existence._

"You destroyed my yard!"

She stretched her arms out, her previously sore muscles now aching with pleasure. Finally, she opened her eyes, the colour of the well-lit room almost so vivid, she could _feel_ it. A slow, oozing laugh escaped her as she made out his figure from across the room by the window, his stare heavy with accusation.

"Good," she slurred. "You deserve it."

"What did you do?" He tried again.

"I told you," she said as she sat up too fast _,_ steadying herself with a firm grip on the back of the couch. "I'm proficient."

"You were practising on your own."

She grinned in response, even though he hadn't posed it as a question.

"Fiendfyre?" He concluded from the burned lawn.

"You said, ' _no more lessons_ '," Hermione said in her best imitation of his deep voice. "How else did you expect me to learn?"

His jaw tightened.

She giggled seeing his sour expression. "Am I _upsetting_ you?"

" _You're infuriating me._ "

"Oh, don't be like that," she cooed, moving to her feet and shakily making her way over to him. "You should be _happy._ I didn't burn the house down, after all."

"Not for lack of trying."

She laughed again as a sudden idea of how to both find the answers to her questions and calm the prickling of her skin sprung to her mind. Slowly, she slid her hands up to his shirt and began to finger at the buttons.

"No need to worry. The grass will grow back," she pointed out as her fingertips reached the neck of his shirt, "and there's an open bottle of wine in the kitchen."

He narrowed his eyes at her while she licked her bottom lip and brought it between her teeth. His expression didn't falter as she popped one, two, three of his buttons open. Just as she was beginning to feel a bit disappointed at his lack of response, he unfolded his arms at the same time as the corner of his mouth turned upward.

"Are you attempting to distract me through seduction, Ms. Granger?"

Her smile mirrored his as she gave up on the buttons and brought her arms up to circle around his neck, the small amount of skin contact steadying her. "I might be."

It didn't take much after that. Two glasses of wine and a few suggestive comments later, and her skirt was running up her thighs as he lifted her up and pushed her back on the dining table. He positioned himself between her legs, and pulled one up around his hips, sliding his hand under her thigh.

She moved herself up slightly so that she could rub herself against him through their clothes, and was rewarded by a groan deep in his throat.

She smiled against his mouth as she ran her hands up his chest and started at the buttons of his shirt, eager to finally get the damn thing off of him. While she tried to pull them open, he tugged at her underwear, pulling them halfway down with ease. He ran his hand up the inside of her thigh giving her goosebumps, and she almost _purred_ when he touched her. He circled his fingers for a moment before slipping them down, and pushing inside -

But no. She had other ideas. She only allowed herself to enjoy the feeling of his fingers for a short moment before she wriggled back and pushed him away to start at undoing his belt.

"What are you-"

He broke off as she pushed him back and slid off of the table, dropping to her knees in front of him. Although she knew it was his favourite, she hadn't gone down on him since she found out who he was. She looked up and saw a grin forming on his face as he realised where she was going, before she freed him from the confinement of his pants.

Her abdominal muscles clenched. _His cock was much nicer than Ron's._

She began to pump his length with her hand, drawing the fluid from his tip downward and putting extra pressure on the underside where she knew he liked it, before moving in to taste. He tangled a hand into her hair as she circled her tongue over his tip and drew him into her mouth, pulling back and forth a few times before she pulled back with a _pop._

She wiped her lip and smiled up at him as she continued with just her hand for a moment before slowing down. He made a sound of protest as she brought her hand to a stop, keeping a firm grip around him.

"Do you still feel the way I feel?" She asked slightly breathlessly. When he didn't respond, she clarified, "from the magic? After you kill?"

She almost laughed at the way he stubbornly remained silent and moved his hips forward into her grip.

"Does it make you want to _fuck?_ "

He still remained quiet as he squeezed his eyes shut and his grip tightened in her hair. She took the slight tip of his head as a 'yes'.

"Does my touch help you? The way yours helps me?" She continued, stroking down his entire length slowly to his base as she moved forward to retake his tip into her mouth.

A low groan escaped his throat and he managed a short "yes," from between clenched teeth.

She hummed in satisfaction, feeling a little bit smug as she took him in to the back of her mouth before pulling back once more. "And is that why you want me to stay with you?"

"Granger-"

"Does the magic make it hard for you to be alone?"

" _Hermione-_ "

"Does it make you _itch?_ "

His nails scratched her scalp as he fisted in her hair.

"Is it _unbearable?_ "

"Gods, _yes_ , now would you _please_ just -"

He broke off to groan loudly as she brought him back into her mouth, grasping his balls in her hand. She moaned around him in satisfaction, her chest warming at the thought that he _needed_ her. She glanced up to see his eyes roll into the back of his head.

_How victory tasted sweet._

*

Rolf glanced beside him to the short man nearby browsing through the shelves of a dingy shop off of Knockturn Alley. He'd been ghosting the man for a good half hour now, waiting for the chance to speak without being overheard. As it neared the store's closing time and the other customers slowly filtered out of the store, he decided that he wouldn't get a better chance.

"Hey," Rolf whispered loudly, successfully distracting the other shopper. "Richard Travers, right?"

The short man stared him up and down for a moment. "Depends who's asking," he grumbled eventually.

"Rolf Scamander."

" _Scamander?_ "

"That's right."

Travers grunted.

"You, uh... your family's one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight," Rolf said, having intended for it to be a question, yet it came out as more of a statement.

"Yeah."

"So... you're still in contact with _him,_ right?" He asked, unsure how to go about breaching the subject.

Travers' expression hardened before he scoffed.

"What, I'm a pureblood, and that automatically makes me one of _them?_ Fuck off."

"Look, I-I'm not with the Ministry," Rolf tried, palms up in surrender. "I'm just interested, you know, in joining?"

Travers stared skeptically.

"As part of one of the few pureblood families left, I owe it to my ancestors, you know?" Rolf continued, knowing full well that his grandmother on his mother's side was a muggle, but hoping that Travers _didn't._ "Surely _you_ understand."

Travers narrowed his eyes. "I can't help you," he eventually said slowly.

"But I-"

" _Not here,_ " he whispered, before stepping back leaving the shop in a hurry.

A small smile crossed Rolf's face as he made sure there was still no one was watching, before ducking out of the shop after Travers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooo this was my first sorta real attempt at writing smut, and I have a question? To those of you who have written it before, does it get easier?? Do you ever stop blushing??? Will I eventually feel less dirty????


	22. A Proposition

As Hermione slowly strode down the Ancient History aisle of Flourish and Blotts, she was almost able to forget about the man by her side. That was, until she noticed a robed wizard out in the street through the shop's front window, with an oversized camera pointed in their direction. As Voldemort eventually looked up from the book that had caught his eye and saw what had caught her attention, he stepped closer, and laced his long arm around her shoulders.

Hermione refrained from rolling her eyes at the blatant display and looked down to watch the way his fingertips gently massaged the exposed skin of her shoulder.

"Have you ever considered a career in film?" She asked dryly.

He smiled from the corner of his mouth and moved in, his stubble brushing against her ear.

"I've told you. I'm not acting."

She stayed quiet and turned her head to meet his eyes, stopping to watch the way his eyes shone with amusement.

"You know I don't like that," she said.

"Don't like what?" He asked with innocent eyes.

"When you suggest that this is something we both know it's not."

"You still don't think I mean it?"

"Of course you don't," she laughed incredulously, the movement of her shoulders bringing them closer together. "Stop messing with me."

"Your words wound me," he said lowly, his lips turned ever so slightly upward.

She snorted.

He looked down at her intently for a brief moment, his jaw twitching thoughtfully as he glanced down to her lips.

"Marry me."

Her mouth mirrored her eyes and popped open as time momentarily stood still. Both her mind and her legs hit a screeching halt as Voldemort's grip around her shoulder tightened, as if he knew she was about to step away.

She stood, gaping, as her mind rebooted.

" _E-excuse me?_ " She managed after a long moment.

 _Surely she had imagined it. The magic use had finally done it; she'd lost her mind. He couldn't have said those words. There was no way, she was hallucinating, it wasn't_ possible -

"Marry me," he repeated.

 _Oh dear god. He_ had _said those words. She wasn't imagining it. She was sure this time._

"I -" she tried to no avail. "We - I - but -"

"Hermione?"

She quickly looked both ways down the aisle, ensuring nobody aside from the photographer outside was watching them.

"Are you having a laugh?" She asked in a firm, hushed tone, once her mind had switched back on. "Are you pulling my leg? Is this some kind of - of _twisted_ joke?!"

"No."

She blinked.

"Are you _insane?_ " She continued in the same coarse whisper.

"You know quite well that I'm not."

"Then stop acting like it! You can't - _we_ _can't_ \- can't just -"

"Think about it, would you?"

" _Think about it?!_ You're mad," she said, shaking her head slightly with wide eyes. "Is this because I accused you of acting? Is this another one of your _sick_ ways of trying to prove a point?"

"No."

She shook her head again and looked away to the nearest shelf of books. " _Mad._ "

"You're causing a scene."

"I am _not_ causing a scene!" She insisted, looking around them to see a few heads from out near the front counter were now, in fact, turned in their direction. "And even if I am, it's well deserved! You can't just - just _propose_ as if we - as if _this_ -"

"Do you have an answer?"

"I mean, it was _you_ who said that this means nothing," she continued, gesturing between them. " _You._ I agreed to that, I didn't agree to - to -"

"People marry for reasons other than romance all the time," he pointed out nonchalantly.

"But it's -"

"It's a very common arrangement."

"- complete and _utter_ madness -"

"Yes or no, Hermione."

"I - is that even a question? Of course it's a no!"

"Just _think_ about it, would you? I'll take you to Paris," he said lowly, his fingertips moving lower down her arm as he moved in closer again. "We'll have a romantic candlelit dinner, I'll get down on one knee - you'll be the envy of every _single_ reader of Witch Weekly. And then, once we're married -"

Hermione scoffed loudly.

"- no longer will anyone dare suggest that you only slept with me to further your career. No longer will anyone question our relationship. No longer will Dolohov, or Travers, or Florian, or _anyone_ dare to give you a hard time."

"Yeah, the only flaw in that being that I said _no_ ," Hermione said dryly, plucking a book off of the shelf.

"And then, once you're Minister, _I'll_ be the Minister's husband. First Man, if you will."

"Who said anything about my becoming Minister?!" She asked, her voice rising again to a shrill squawk as she was thrown off by the sudden change in topic. "What does that have to do with this?!"

"Please, I see how you are in our meetings with Kingsley. You _long_ to be behind that desk, to be the one in charge, to reach the top of your career," he said, his tone seductive. "I don't blame you, you deserve it - and I can _help_ you get there."

"Is _that_ what this _all_ is about?" she questioned, staring incredulously. "You just want to be the husband of the Minister?"

"Yes. With you running the country, anything that may or may not be revealed about me, will ruin you, too," he said gently, bringing a hand up to brush her cheek lightly, as if what he was saying was _loving._ "It will not only ensure your continuous loyalty, but it will put us _both_ in highly influential positions. Together, we will have _complete_ control of the Ministry."

She firmly tried to ignore the stab of hurt his words caused somewhere in her chest. "I'm under an _unbreakable vow_ ," she spat. "You've already ensured my loyalty."

"You'll find a loophole sooner or later," he said quietly, his thumb moving to brush against her lower lip. "I am not so foolish to believe that once you do, you won't to do everything in your power to be rid of me."

She scoffed. "And you think that being _married_ to you will stop me? This is the worst idea I've ever heard," she said firmly, pulling back to finally free herself of his touch. "And I went to school with Harry and Ron - I've heard some truly awful ones."

"Saying yes has only benefits for you," he continued.

"In _what universe_ are you living in?" She asked rhetorically, her voice growing shrill once more. "There are clearly only cons for me in that... _hypothetical_ situation. I would be legally _stuck_ with you. And once everyone finally starts listening to Harry, I'll be seen as one of your followers. I'll be prosecuted too."

"That won't happen. Not when _you're_ the one signing the arrest warrants."

"Of course it will! Besides, I'm not nearly qualified to become Minister, and I certainly won't be for _decades._ Even though you've ensured I won't tell anyone anything, it's only a matter of time before they see you for what you are. And they _will_ see you for what you are."

He surprised her by laughing and stepping closer once more. "You act so innocent. I can't help but wonder how it will hurt when you finally fall from your horse."

"I - _excuse me?_ "

"You're no better than me," he said with a smile, tugging gently on a curled tendril of her hair. "You're a killer."

Her nostrils flared at the mention of Aldridge. "That was different."

"You don't need to lie to me," he said softly, stepping closer again. "I understand. I know better than anyone how it feels."

"I didn't mean it."

He smiled.

"Of course you didn't," he said, clearly not sharing in her opinion.

" _I didn't._ "

Voldemort watched her as he twisted her hair around his finger. "Just think about it. I don't want your answer now."

"My answer is _no,_ " she said with as much sass as she could muster. She stepped back, her hair unravelling from his finger as she did so. "Now if you'd excuse me, I have a job to get back to."

He smiled as he watched her leave, stomping all the way as she went.

*

Hermione gently banged her head onto her desk, her pile of paperwork left untouched beside her. To say that she couldn't focus was in understatement.

_Marry me, marry me, marry me._

She couldn't stop playing his words over and over in her mind. They were stuck on loop, bringing a sharp feeling of unease each time they played.

This wasn't part of the plan _._ He was supposed to be using her, _she_ was supposed to be using _him._ This wasn't supposed to be _real_ , this wasn't supposed to be _permanent_.

_She couldn't marry him._

He was a monster. It was that simple. No matter how clouded she was becoming, no matter how much she'd grown to enjoy his company, no matter how good his touch felt, nothing changed that.

_She couldn't marry him._

Marriage wasn't just something to be tossed around, either. Marriage was a union built on trust, and partnership, and _love._ She'd already done it once with Ron, and she didn't particularly want to rush into another marriage, regardless of _who_ it was with. Not to mention, Voldemort wanted it purely for politics. He didn't trust her, he didn't want a partnership with her. He didn't care about her. _He didn't love her._

_She couldn't marry him._

This was just him attempting to blur the line. He _knew_ she was developing a soft spot for him, and this was just another one of his attempts to make it softer. This was just him _continuing_ to manipulate her.

_No._

_She most certainly could not marry him._

*

He didn't bring it up again. For a whole week, Voldemort carried on as if nothing had happened, leaving Hermione to question whether their trip to Flourish and Blotts had all been in her head.

 _Maybe she_ had _imagined it. Maybe she truly had begun to lose her mind._

To distract herself, she continued to lose herself in her magic, spending most of her free time in the back-yard practicing. With the now dead grass, the space had a completely different feel to it. Without the vibrant life around her feet, she felt colder, and not just because of the weather slowly approaching winter. The death around her complemented the magic she was using far better than the life had.

Although, it was proving difficult to distract herself from him when he wouldn't let her step outside without him. Ever since her stunt with the Fiendfyre, Voldemort had changed his tune about her lessons. He had, understandably, become much more reluctant to let her continue to practice on her own, lest she end up destroying the whole yard.

That Friday night, for the first time in weeks, he taught her something new. A curse; one which was particularly nasty when cast at the right time of day, as it made the sunlight burn one's skin as it would a vampire. For this lesson, he had taken up stance on the far side of the yard and was acting as her target for the evening. Upon her questioning why she couldn't just use the tree as she usually did, he'd gone on to point out the obvious, 'what do you think a spell like this would do to a tree, which stands in the sun for more than half of every day?'

She didn't need him to tell her that she was improving immensely. Her aptitude for the Dark Arts was undeniably growing stronger. After minimal instruction, she'd managed to get the hang of the curse after a mere half hour.

"Good. One more time," Voldemort instructed from across the yard, having deflected her last two successful attempts at the curse.

Without hesitation, she cast, " _Solaris dolor_ ," watching with satisfaction as the white curse erupted from her wand toward him.

He deflected the third curse toward the fence before he looked to her with a pleased expression. "Excellent. You're improving."

She crossed the yard over to where he stood, nodding proudly. "You're going to run out of things to show me soon," she teased as she caught her breath. "We should move on. I _know_ what you said last time, but I really think-"

"You're not ready," he said at once, knowing exactly where her words were going.

She perched her hands on her hips.

"I've managed everything else you've thrown at me. _It's the next logical step_ ," she said, throwing his words back at him.

"You're not ready," he repeated with a short laugh.

"I will never be _more_ ready."

He shook his head slowly and stepped back to lean his back against the large tree trunk.

"Alright. I'll humour you," he said simply, unfolding his long arms and drawing his wand. He flicked it in the direction of a medium sized rock, which shifted until it slowly morphed into a rabbit. "Prove it. Prove to me that you're ready. _Kill it_."

She looked down at the white rabbit, which had now hopped forward and slowly began to chew on the tips of the grass. She had the sudden subconscious thought of whether the rabbit he had killed at his orphanage had been white.

"You don't need me to show you how to do it. You already know the incantation. You know you need _true_ intent. It's actually quite a simple spell, once you have both."

She swallowed.

_Do it. You have to. Don't think. This is the last step. Kill the rabbit, then you can kill him._

_Do it._

_The entire wizarding world is depending on you._

_Do it._

_You'll finally be rid of him. He's manipulating you, and he_ deserves _it. You'll finally be_ free.

_Do it._

_But look at it’s little nose, and it’s little feet, and it's little tail..._

She extended her wand arm and held it steady. She took a deep breath. _Just words and intent, words and intent, words and intent._

" _Avada Kedavra_."

...

Nothing happened.

Voldemort's soft chuckle sounded from over by the tree. She closed her eyes in frustration and tried to focus, tried to shake off any concern for the transfigured rabbit.

_It's just a rock. It's not a real rabbit. It doesn't matter. It will be quick. You can do this. You have to do this._

She looked back to the rabbit and raised her wand once more.

" _Avada Kedavra!_ "

Still, nothing happened.

"You really should listen to me once in a while," Voldemort said with another laugh, pushing off of the tree he was leaning on. "Contrary to popular belief, I don't always speak for the sole purpose of hearing my own voice."

" _Shut up!_ "

He widened his eyes innocently as he stepped across the dirt to where she stood. "Do you know what your problem is?"

She rolled her eyes and pointed her wand at the rabbit again.

"You can't cast the spell, because you don't want to do it."

"You know what, you're right," she snapped, bringing her wand arm back down to her side. "I don't want to hurt an innocent rabbit."

He stepped toward her and turned her to face him, taking her wrists in his hands. "You can't cast the spell, because you're still in _love_ with me."

She fought in his hold, shoving against his chest to pull herself free. "No. _I'm not_ ," she insisted, that fucking _smirk_ bringing her anger to the surface. "I could never love you. I would rather _die,_ than love you."

He pulled her wand arm back, bringing her wand up to press into the centre of his own chest.

"Do it then. One curse and you're _free_ , right?"

She hesitated.

" _Do it._ What are you waiting for?"

A short breath escaped her before she looked up to meet his eyes.

She didn't do it.

"That's what I thought."

*

Come his next meeting, Voldemort was running late.

He _detested_ running late.

His mood then dropped further to an abysmal low upon arriving at his meeting and discovering that there were not one, but _two_ empty spaces down the far end of the table.

Lord Voldemort prided himself on being an organised man. He liked to be moves ahead at all times. He liked knowing where all of his pawns were at all times. He dreamed of a world where every move, every decision, every _action_ was a result of his will, and his will alone.

And so, if there was one thing he utterly _loathed_ , it was when one of his pieces made an illegal move.

His jaw twitched.

The attendees watched him, but were careful to not catch his eye as he lowered into his chair and leaned back lazily. He allowed the room to fall into silence, leaving it to stretch on, choosing to bask in the discomfort of his followers.

They were always far more receptive when there was fear in the equation, after all.

"Could someone please enlighten me as to _why_ ," Voldemort started, his voice lowering dangerously, "there is an extra vacant place at my table?"

A thick silence followed, none of the Death Eaters daring to break it, none willing to meet his cold eyes. He scanned the room, slowly looking past the attendees one by one, until his attention landed on Travers.

Travers shifted under the weight of his stare.

" _Travers?_ " Voldemort questioned quietly.

"I-I was expecting someone else, my Lord."

Voldemort held his stare as he exhaled slowly through his nose. "Someone _else?_ "

"A new recruit," Travers clarified.

Voldemort continued to stare coldly before he smiled. His smile slowly turned into a slow laugh as he looked back to his other followers. A few of them smiled, a few laughed along with him, while Lucius and Draco, recognising the warning signs, remained deathly silent.

"Dolohov," Voldemort said, slowly bringing his laughter to a stop. "Do you recall me asking Mr. Travers to begin recruiting?"

"No, my Lord," she responded immediately.

"Do you remember _who_ I asked to begin recruiting?" He went on, twisting his wand between his fingertips dangerously.

"Evrard, my Lord."

" _Correct,_ " he smiled again, flashing his teeth. "Therefore, as I am well and truly baffled, I must ask the question, Travers; _What on earth has possessed you into thinking that I meant you?_ "

Travers opened and closed his mouth as if he were going to say something, before being interrupted by a loud, resonating bang from outside of the house that echoed through the walls. Voldemort's shoulder's tensed at the sound and squeezed his eyes closed as the anger bubbled beneath the surface. After the rumbling of the building following the bang subsided, Voldemort returned his icy stare to Travers.

A moment later, before anything could be said, the door to the meeting room burst open.

"Pardon, my Lord. But they're here," Lilliana said, her voice coming out breathlessly from having run up the stairs.

Voldemort closed his eyes once more, bringing his hands up to massage his temples.

"Who?" He asked calmly without turning.

"Th-the Order."

His eyes shot open and he took a deep breath. "Go," he instructed vaguely. When no one from the table moved, he looked up to glance at those around the table. " _Go!_ "

At his yell, everyone burst up and all but ran out of the room.

Voldemort rose with them, closing a hand around Hermione's wrist. "Come with me," he growled, pulling her out of the meeting room and in the opposite direction to everyone else, deeper into the house.

"Where are we-" she started to ask over the sounds of more curses colliding with the house as he pulled her into what looked to be a study. He let go of her wrist, leaving her standing in the doorway while he approached the cluttered table and began to rummage through the scattered papers.

A sudden treacherous thought brought on by her adrenaline rush crossed her mind. She could turn around and run. She could _leave._ Who knew how many from the Order were here? Would Harry be here? Would _Ron?_ This could be her chance; if Harry saw them here, would that be the proof that he needed? This could be her loophole, this could be her _freedom._

But before she had the chance to act on her thoughts, Voldemort tucked his handful of parchments into his robe and turned back to her, taking her wrist once more. "Come."

He pulled her back through the upper floor of the house and toward the stairs, his grip painfully tight as if he knew exactly what she had been considering. As they approached the last door before the stairs, Voldemort stopped into the doorway to pull out his wand. Directing it through the door toward Lilliana, he cast, " _obliviate._ "

As she fell back and hit the ground, Voldemort continued forward, pulling Hermione with him down the stairs. In the few minutes they had spent in the upper floor, the sounds from below had grown more intense, the walls and the flooring shaking from the impact of stray curses from the battle. From the way the house echoed, it was clear that the fighting was ongoing out the front and back. Voldemort halted as they reached the bottom of the stairs, seeming to take a moment to decide which way to go. He pulled her in the direction they'd come in through toward the back courtyard, the sounds growing louder as they approached.

It wasn't until they reached the entrance hall that they came across any of the signs of the fight underway in the gardens. A body was thrown through the open back door directly ahead of them, colliding with the internal wall behind with a loud groan.

Noel crumpled, holding his head where it had collided with the wall.

Voldemort shifted beside her, once again drawing his wand just in time for Noel's pursuer to burst through the doorway. He looked to them for a second, his eyes widening slightly as he recognised them before green light flashed from Voldemort's wand and collided with his chest.

It only took that second for Hermione to recognise him as Sturgis Podmore.

Voldemort squeezed her wrist painfully and pulled her along behind him, not giving her a chance to process what she had seen, stepping over Sturgis' fallen body and leading her out into the back courtyard. It quickly became clear that he had no intention of engaging any of the remaining Order members. Instead, he hurried through the yard toward the centre where the anti-apparition wards were lifted, allowing his Death Eaters to do the work for him.

The Death Eaters barely outnumbered the Order, Hermione noticed as they weaved through. As she scanned the area for the Order's fighters, she was taken aback to see that other than Sturgis, she didn't recognise _any_ of them.

_They were all new recruits._

As they closed in on the fountain in the centre they had initially arrived at, a red stunner passed them, mere centimetres away from Voldemort's head. He bared his teeth as he spun to face the caster, a sound of rage escaping him as he recognised the old woman.

" _You!_ "

Maeve sent him a mocking smile before throwing another stunning spell his way. He let go of Hermione's wrist, pushing her back in the process, and seemed to forget about leaving the courtyard as they began to duel.

Hermione pushed herself up off of the dirt into which she'd fallen, and watched, surprised to see that the old woman was good. _Very good_. It was as if she knew what Voldemort was going to do before he did it, stepping out of the way of his killing curses as if she were dancing, and deflecting his others where she could.

While he was duelling to kill, she was duelling to detain. While she was throwing him sweet, mocking smiles between her spells, he was throwing her grimaces.

It was abundantly clear that they knew each other.

Her attention was drawn away from their duel as a stray curse flew past, missing her by inches. She turned to see who had cast it, seeing Draco and Lucius struggling with their shared opponent.

She moved forward, drawing her wand and opening her mouth to cast before she temporarily froze. The sudden realisation that she'd almost assisted two _Death Eaters_ in fighting off a lone member of the _Order_ , was enough to leave her completely dumbfounded.

Without realising it though, her approach had distracted the Order member sufficiently for Lucius to land a stunning spell on the young man. She met Lucius' eyes for a fraction of a second, the blond man nodding slightly in thanks. His unexpected display of gratitude almost completely distracted her from the fact that he hadn't been duelling to kill. _Almost._

As the blond men moved on to retreat back into the house, Hermione turned back to watch Voldemort's duel. A sound of shock slipped out as she looked back just in time to see one of the old woman's curses meeting it's target. Voldemort roared in pain, reaching for his jaw where her slicing hex had collided. In his moment of distraction, the woman did not stop and threw another in his direction, meeting its mark on his other arm.

Hermione stiffened.

_This wasn't how it was meant to go._

_He wasn't supposed to lose._

She closed in on the pair, Voldemort well and truly furious now. Even with his now-youthful appearance, with his anger ablaze in his eyes and blood dripping down his cheek and arm, he resembled a demon, a being come straight from the pits of hell. He retaliated against the woman with a vengeance, moving faster than he had previously, his curses flying rapidly as if he hadn't been honestly trying earlier.

And yet, the woman still somehow managed to evade them.

A strong feeling of protectiveness greater than what she'd felt for the Malfoy's struck Hermione so suddenly that she didn't realise it for what it was.

Her magic poised within her, ready to go, whispering in her ear. The spell wanted to be cast, and oh, how it would reward her if she gave in. She could already feel the warm buzz from her fingertips, her stomach clenching in anticipation.

She was without a single doubt in her mind that she could do it this time.

But her magic didn't control her, _she_ controlled _it._

_But he was her teacher, and she wasn't done learning. No one could teach her the things that he could._

But for all she knew, this woman was innocent. She didn't deserve it.

 _But she still needed him._ And wasn't _she_ meant to be the one to kill him, not whoever this foreign woman was? Wasn't it _she_ who he had used? _She_ who had lived with him and spent the last six months of her life so carefully gaining his trust so she could bring him down?

_Wasn't this her burden to bear?_

_Wasn't this the perfect opportunity to fully gain his trust?_

And so, she hesitated no longer.

" _Avada Kedavra!_ "

As soon as the words left her lips, she knew she had done it, she knew she had succeeded, even had she not seen the flash of green.

She watched as the spell struck the unknown woman from behind, never having seen the curse coming. Hermione stopped to watch her fall and crumple to the ground as she landed face down onto the grass.

She watched the still form before her eyes flicked back up to Voldemort, who stood on the other side of the woman breathing deeply after his duelling. He was staring at her in wonder, almost as if she were the _sun,_ as if this was the first time he had seen her. He slowly reached up and wiped at the blood on his cheek, his look of wonder uninterrupted.

" _My Lord_ -" Florian began, making his way across the clearing from the house.

"Deal with it," he said softly, his eyes still focused on Hermione.

"I -" Florian glanced between the two uncertainly, "- yes, of course."

As Florian scrambled with the others as the battle was won, Voldemort slowly stepped around the fallen woman and over to Hermione, taking her hand in his, all the while _still_ not breaking her eye contact.

He apparated without warning, bringing her along with him. She barely managed to recognise his back yard before she was pushed back against the wall of the house.

He pressed himself against her and took her face in his hands, the skin contact giving her chills. "Marry me," he said in a whisper before closing the distance between them.

"You're insane," she somehow breathed between kisses, trying to stay with it while her body twitched as it experienced what could only be described as _sensory overload._

"Marry me," he said again, kissing his way down her jaw to her neck, his hands lacing up underneath her shirt.

She let out a breath of laughter that was interrupted by an involuntary moan as he bit down on _just_ the right spot.

"I need you," he said gruffly, trailing kisses across her shoulder before moving back up to make eye contact once more. "Please. I need to have you."

"Promise me," she managed to say, no longer worried about voicing her fears, no longer worried about _anything._ How could she when everything felt so _right?_ "Promise me, that this isn't just for politics."

He shifted closer and cupped her cheeks with both of his hands. "I promise you that this isn't just for politics," he said without hesitation, his gaze so intense _it was fire._

And that was how Hermione Jean Granger became engaged to Tom Marvolo Riddle.

*

"Your man was here," Rolf said loudly, reaching out to wipe the dust off of Luna's cheek. "Out in the courtyard."

Harry's green eyes snapped to attention. "What?"

"The man from the newspaper. Jenkins?"

Harry's stomach dropped. Bile rose in his throat, not a single ounce of triumph at being proven right.

_He knew it._

_He knew it, he knew it, he knew it._

"And your friend was with him."

" _Hermione?_ " He and Ron asked simultaneously, his stomach dropping further.

"Are you sure?" Luna asked.

"Yeah. Maeve was duelling with him. I didn't see what happened, but they're gone now, and she's..."

Harry met Ron's gaze, expression grim.

"We have to get to Kingsley," Harry stated.

"He's out of the country, he won't be back until next -"

"It doesn't matter. We need to find him. Now. I'll send a Patronus, and we'll take a Portkey," Harry instructed firmly. "As soon as possible."

*

_He was beautiful. He was the definition of perfect, his hair, his cheekbones, his chest, his arms..._

_And his hands! Beautiful, warm_ perfect _hands..._

_Ben..._

No. That wasn't right. But then what was?

_Tom..._

His _wonderful_ hands tightened around her throat as he growled.

_Had she said his name out loud?_

She pulled at his belt buckle, her small fingers struggling to undo the awful thing. Eventually she managed and happily unbuttoned his trousers, and pushed them down his hips.

He made another impatient sound as he pulled back and freed himself of the rest of his clothing, moving back against her without pause. Her body, filled with magic, hummed with anticipation as she felt him against her, moving to press himself against her entrance. He didn't move for a moment, stopping to watch her squirm beneath him.

She whimpered as she pushed herself up, needing to feel him, needing _more._

"What's the matter, love?" He purred.

" _Please._ "

"Please, what?"

"I... I need..." she bucked her hips, pushing harder up against him.

"Need, what?"

"You."

"But I'm right here."

" _Please,_ I want you inside me."

His eyelashes brushed his cheeks as he inched forward, fulfilling her wish.

She threw her head back at the sensation, feeling him bite his way down her neck as he began to move against her. Each movement of his hips felt magical, everywhere he touched felt on _fire._

She arched her back, pushing herself closer, as close as she could, _needing_ to touch him with as much of herself as she could.

_Is this what he felt after killing?_

She could hardly think as he lifted her hips up, his length pushing as deep as her body would allow. She didn't recognise her moan as her own, the sound leaving her throat of its own accord.

"Say it again," his smooth voice sounded from above her, his hands tightening once more around her throat.

_Say what again?_

"I want to hear you scream my name when you come," his words echoed, and she struggled to focus on them as one of his glorious hands moved down her body to touch her _there._

She bucked against his circling fingers, her fingernails gripping tightly against his back. He watched her intently as he continued to move, savouring the way a small gasp would leave her lips each time he thrust downward.

"Say it," he instructed again with another deep movement.

 _That gasp again._ "Tom _._ "

His eyes rolled back in pleasure before he moved down to her ear, his hips not falling out of rhythm.

"Louder," his rough whisper and the scratch of his stubble almost did more for her than his fingers did.

" _Fuck, Tom.._."

His other hand around her neck tightened once more, almost painfully. " _Louder._ "

But she couldn't _breathe._ His grip was too tight, his thrusts felt too good. Her vision began to spot as the pleasure built, her toes curled as his movements brought her closer, and closer, and -

And then there was nothing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> um,  
> HOLY SHIT BALLS guys I cannot even tell you  
> This is ending up WAAAAAY longer than I ever thought it would. AND IM NOT EVEN DONE WHAAAT  
> I'm so sorry  
> Thank you all for reading my long LONG winded tale thus far  
> All of your feedback and support over the last two years (WHAAAAT HOW HAVE I BEEN WRITING THIS THIS LONG??!!) has no joke been a blessing. You are angels.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading this little bundle of sex, violence and death as much as I did writing it
> 
> xx dev


	23. Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I please just say that I was completely blown away by the reception for the last chapter?!? I'm so warmed by all of your kind, supportive comments, I can't even tell you. It makes me so happy that there are readers who like where this is going! So, yeah, again, thank you to everyone who has given feedback of any kind, and thank you to everyone else who's riding this weird, twisted train of mine ❤️

Hermione woke to the relentless thrum of her heartbeat pulsing behind her eyes.

The room was thankfully still dark, the light from the window blocked by the luxurious curtains that she had once described as pretentious. With protesting muscles, she brought her fingertips to brush her against the sore skin of her throat as the blurry memories of the night before slowly began to emerge in the forefront of her mind. They were hazy, detached; almost as if they weren't hers at all, but the memories of someone else.

She slowly managed to push herself up from the bed and rise to her feet, immediately regretting the decision as a strong wave of wooziness set in. She bent over and groaned, struggling to keep herself upright. Her body and her magic felt ready to burst, like she was six years old again, and being teased for her oversized teeth on the playground.

She felt out of control, like... _like..._

_Merlin, what had happened? There was screaming, curses had been flying. There was blood; he had been bleeding and the woman was to be victorious, but then her magic had let itself loose, naturally, effortlessly._

_And the woman had fallen._

_Fallen._

_Fallen._

Fallen?

But she was here, standing. Who was falling?

Her, and _soon_ , if she didn't sit back down.

She stepped back and fell down into a sitting position on the bed.

"...Hermione?"

The sound echoed through the room, humming pleasantly in her ears. _What was that?_ Such a deep, smooth, calming sound.

"Hermione?"

She had the brief inkling that the echo was her name, _but_ _was that really her name? Surely not._

"Hermione, look at me."

_Hermione. Her-my-oh-knee. That didn't sound right. What sort of name was that?_ Was _that even a name?_

She forced her eyelids open and focused downward to her own hands in her lap, the skin of her lids feeling unnaturally heavy. 

_Oh gods, why was she naked?!_

_Was someone talking? But she was naked! Wasn't she alone? Who was talking?_

Warm hands lifted her head up and she found herself looking into deep, chocolate eyes.

"Hermione, what am I thinking of?"

_Thinking, thinking, thinking..._

_Always thinking._

"Hmm - _what?_ " She felt her mouth ask, the sound in her throat rough and foreign.

"I need you to tell me. What am I thinking, Hermione?"

"I - I don't -" she squeezed her eyes shut, unable to process the onslaught of blurs in front of her.

" _Hermione,_ open your eyes," the voice-echo commanded.

She did as the voice said, looking back into those _eyes._ They were deep, inviting, drawing her in.

"Do as I say, Hermione," the voice instructed slowly, the words spaced out clearly. "I need to know, what am I thinking?"

She didn't know what the voice meant, but she knew she didn't want to _disappoint_ it.

_What were the eyes thinking?_

She focused on the dark brown orbs, and slowly leaned forward. She didn't know what she was doing, but it felt _right._ And once more, she was falling... falling... _falling._

The world stopped spinning the moment she passed through the barrier of the eyes. Everything was perfectly still, no longer was anything blurry. The nausea lingered no more.

She found herself taller than she remembered, leaning against the wooden archway of Voldemort’s kitchen, watching a girl seated in the living room closely. She was reading, a book so large that it filled her lap. She couldn't see the girls face, as it was hidden behind her mane of bushy hair, but she just _knew_ that she looked hungry.

_His_ Hermione _, always eager, hungry to learn; insatiable._

_Hermione._

_Hermione._

_...Hermione?_

With a jolt, she was felt the sensation of being pushed back out _._ Returning to her own head felt like a bucket of water had been dumped over her. She gasped, taking in deep breaths of air as if all depended on it.

"Hermione?" The deep voice asked carefully.

She opened her eyes once more. Voldemort was sitting next to her, his hands clasping hers tightly. He looked uncharacteristically... _worried._

"Tom?"

If he were upset by her use of his name, he didn't show it. He released his hold on her hands and brought them up to cup her face.

"Are you alright?"

"I -" she started as she squeezed her eyelids together, unsure of how to answer. "I need water."

He took one of his hands back, and tucked it into his pocket, drawing out his wand. With a quick flick, a glass materialised on the bedside cabinet, filling with water shortly after.

She reached out for it, bringing it to her lips as fast as she could.

"Thank you," she managed shakily after having drained the glass in a single go.

"Here," he said as he rose from the bed and pulled something off of the dresser opposite them. "Take it. The best way through now is to keep going."

He placed her wand in her shaky hands, and she looked at it in confusion.

"No, I can't, I -"

"You need to. Your body is in withdrawal. This will be... _significantly_ worse than the last time. Stopping would be the worst thing you could do right now; the best way is to slowly wean yourself."

"No, that's - that'll make it _worse_ in the long run, I-I need to _stop_ , I need to -"

" _Can_ you stop?"

She looked up to meet his eyes.

_Can you stop?_

Can _you stop?_

Slowly, she glanced back down to the wand in her grip. _If only the room would stop_ spinning. _She just needed to be still, then she could focus, and try to stop, and_ -

He was right, she couldn't stop. She didn't want to stop, her _body_ didn't want her to stop. She clutched the wand and slowly looked back up to him.

"I - why are _you_ alright?" She asked quietly. "You did far more than I did..."

"I've been where you are now many, many times," he said slowly, moving back to sit by her side. "Far too many to count."

"But you're _fine_."

He reached out and caressed her cheek lightly, smiling sadly. "You know that's not true."

She leaned her head into his chest, and he wrapped his arms around her head. She hummed at the feeling, like the only thing keeping her still were his arms.

"You're alright," he murmured into her hair, far more gently than she could have ever thought possible. "You'll get through this, it will get easier. I promise."

 

*

 

It was easier than she'd anticipated; natural, even. It felt right. A little spell here, a little legilimency there, and her unease was almost completely settled. Although her legilimency still wasn't comparable to Voldemort's, the muggles at her favourite cafe didn't seem to notice.

With each spell, she'd get a solid few hours of relief, a relief that was so blissful that she could barely remember why she'd ever had a problem with it in the first place. That, paired with the sex, had her experiencing a state of being that was so blissfully detached, that by the time she needed to return to the Ministry, she was entirely on cloud nine. Aside from the slight shaking of her hands and the occasional twitch, she felt much better than she ever remembered.

Somewhere in the back of her mind was a fear that upon returning to the Ministry, her co-workers would just _know_ what she had done, what she had been a part of. But, with the help of the magic, it was easy enough to push it aside long enough for her to discover that _they didn't._

They smiled politely as they had done every other day, some nodding in greeting as she, arm in arm with Voldemort, passed them early on Monday morning.

_And it was exhilarating._ With her hand around his elbow and the buzzing beneath her skin, she felt... untouchable, unstoppable.

_Powerful._

It didn't last very long, however, for when she left her office to make herself her morning coffee, the fear that she had so easily shut out earlier came rushing back with a vengeance as she looked across the Investigation Offices to meet Harry's watchful eye. Once he had her attention, he gestured toward his office with a nod of his head, before ducking into it.

Hermione swallowed.

_It’s just Harry. He didn't see you at the Goyle house,_ she assured herself. _If he had, he would have done something about it by now. He just wants to see what you know. There is no need to fear._

Still, knowing all too well that she was only delaying the inevitable, she took her time heading over, greeting her other co-workers on the way to her oldest friend's office. He stood leaning against his desk, clearly having been waiting for her, and hastily closed the door behind her as she entered before turning to her expectantly.

She hesitantly took a seat. "Yes?"

"Go on then."

She blinked. "I - _sorry?_ "

"Are you going to tell me, or not?" Harry asked, his impatience clear.

"Tell you what?"

"About-" he started loudly, before cutting off to drop to a whisper. "About the Goyle house."

_Merlin, what if he_ had _seen her?_

" _..._ The Goyle house?" She asked innocently, the lie coming out smoothly, naturally.

"Don't give me that, there are _eye witnesses_ to the fact that you were there!"

Hermione shifted and tightened her arms around herself as the fear came forth once more, the fact that it wasn't Harry who had seen her of little consolation.

If _she_ had been seen, then that meant that surely _Voldemort_ had been, too.

_Was this it? Was this finally the moment? Her chance to come clean, her chance to start bringing him down? This could finally be the moment she had been waiting for, all of these long months..._

_But then, why did it feel so awful?_

But as she tried to push her emotions aside and opened her mouth to confirm Harry's accusation, she felt the familiar burning pressure of the vow around her wrist.

_It_ still _wasn’t enough._

"I-I don't know what you're talking about," she eventually said, feeling almost _thankful_ for the excuse of the vow to not confess. "Why would I be at Goyle's?"

"Hermione," Harry gaped incredulously, his voice hardening. "We are putting together arrest warrants for those seen at the house, _as we speak_ ," he said slowly. " _You_ were seen at the house. I can't help you if you don't-"

"Harry-"

"-cooperate. As soon as Kingsley gets back to clear them, we're bringing everybody in. You know that I don't want to do this to you, but if you don't _talk_ to me, then you're not leaving me with a choice here."

She looked away and took a deep breath.

_This was it. If she couldn't talk, then she was done for. She would to lose her job. Her reputation would be forever tarnished. She would go to Azkaban. If she didn't speak, then she would serve life there._

_But was that better than dying of a broken vow?_

"Harry..." she slowly started, her sense of self-preservation _still_ overpowering her conscience. "I don't have anything to tell you-"

" _Bullshit!_ " He yelled, his composure breaking at last. "You were seen to be in attendance at a _Death Eater_ congregation! _With him!_ " He finished, pointing out toward their office, confusion and hurt clear in his voice. " _He - Jenkins -_ was there! You can't _possibly_ tell me that it's not him anymore, Hermione, I... Christ, I don't even know why I'm giving you this much. Ever since _he's_ been here, you've given me nothing. He's changing you - _don't you dare deny it_ \- and I just... I can't _trust_ you anymore."

"Harry-"

"I have to do my job. I have to do what's _right_ ," he said sternly. "Even if that means not doing right by you."

She knew that each and every one of his words were deserved, and she knew that she should be feeling _something_ other than the slight unease his words instilled within her and the fear of going to Azkaban. She should be sad, distraught, sorry, _anything_ , but all she could feel was... empty.

It wasn't right. _She wasn't right._

"I understand."

She wasn't sure of how she made it back to her office. One minute she was leaving Harry's, and the next she was seated at her desk with her head in her hands.

She squeezed her eyes closed, the unease in her chest constricting tighter, making it harder to breathe.

"Are you alright?"

"I-"

She couldn't speak. Although her breaths had sped up, she just couldn't _breathe_. Her neck, like her chest, was constricting, trapping the blood in her head. She struggled to hear over the heart beat in her ears, thumping harder to compensate.

_Thump, thump_

_Thump, thump, thump_

_Thumpthumpthumpthump_

"Hermione?"

"I-I-" she stuttered again.

_Oh gods. She couldn't be having a panic attack. Not now._

Voldemort stepped closer and placed his hands on her arms. "What's wrong?" He asked firmly. "Tell me."

"I-it's Harry," she whispered, forcing even breaths. "He-he has witnesses, of Saturday night. He's putting together the arrest warrants, and there's one with my name on it, and one with your name on it, and I can't _say_ anything, and I deserve it, it's the _least_ I deserve, and-"

"Hey, hey," he soothed gently, cutting her off as he moved his hands to cradle her jaw. "No need to worry. I'm sorting it out."

" _How can you possibly-_ "

"I told you, I'll look after you," he said, bringing the pads of his thumbs gently over her cheeks, caressing soothingly. "I have it under control. The warrants won't be going through. No need to worry."

"I-" she tried, unable to form words, unable to process how _calm_ he was. "But-"

"Nothing will come of this. He will push, but you'll be alright. _We_ will be alright."

She stiffly nodded.

"Trust me."

As she held his gaze, and the warm colour of his eyes soothed her as they had the day before, she realised; she did.

 

*

 

Kingsley didn't respond to Harry's patronus.

Or the second one.

Or the one after that, either.

He must have been in such a rush to get back that he didn't bother to waste his time in sending a reply, Harry told himself. But come Tuesday morning, the day that Kingsley was due to return to the office, and he _still_ hadn't made any form of contact, it was becoming harder for Harry to believe himself.

Certain that he hadn't been so on edge since 1998, Harry arrived at level one of the Ministry in front of the Minister's office at five minutes to nine, and paced.

And paced.

And paced.

He paced for a solid hour until his feet started to ache before heading back to the Senior Undersecretary's office.

"Have you had any word from Kingsley?" He asked with an impatient tap of his foot.

"No, I'm sorry," the woman behind the desk answered. "He's due back anytime now though. I can send you a memo once he's in?"

"Yes. Yes, do that."

But Harry didn't receive a memo for the rest of the day, nor did he receive one in the days to follow. Regardless, he ventured down to the Minister's office multiple times a day, only to be greeted with an empty office and the same shrug from the Undersecretary. Meanwhile, Kingsley still hadn't replied to a single one of his letters or Patronuses.

By Friday, after discovering that no one else within the Ministry had heard anything from the Minister either, Harry was certain.

Voldemort had Kingsley.

 

*

 

Voldemort stretched his long arms over his head as he leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes and letting out a sigh of content.

Success was a feeling he had long grown accustomed to, but this time he may have _truly_ outdone himself. All of his pieces were aligning beautifully, and his little project was coming along far better than he had ever hoped for, months ahead of schedule, no less...

Yes, fate undoubtedly smiled upon Lord Voldemort. He could see it now, so clearly, clear as _day_ ; _his_ witch, standing at the podium, announcing _his_ words, _his_ will, bending a society who were blissfully unaware as to who their true leader was, to _finally_ see it _his_ way, that secrecy was not the answer, not anymore...

He was disturbed from his happy thoughts by the familiar feeling of being watched. Instincts as keen as ever, he searched out through the office window, his eye catching on the figure who was standing in the corridor staring _straight_ at him.

_Potter._

As Voldemort met the boy's icy stare, a slow smile began to grow on his lips. As it developed into a smug grin, Potter's fist tightened around the parchments in his hand, scrunching up what must have been important documents.

_Yes, he had most_ definitely _outdone himself._

 

*

 

Harry was not the only one who had been eagerly awaiting Kingsley's return. In fact, Hermione had been so anxiously awaiting her old friend's arrival, that by the end of Friday, it was a miracle she had any hair left at all. She remained on the edge of her seat, keeping her eyes sharp and her ears open, bracing herself for any word of the Minister, any sign of her upcoming arrest.

Though, they never came, and she was quick to reach the same conclusion as Harry.

By the time she left her office that evening, close to half of the Ministry were tossing up theories as to where their Minister was, what he was doing, why even the other Department Heads seemed to be at a loss as to his whereabouts.

But she knew better.

"What have you done?" She questioned that night, having waited patiently until they had returned to the safety of the home that was now _theirs_ and he was comfortably settled in the living room.

_He was always more manageable when he was comfortable._

"Hmm?" He hummed, his eyebrows raising innocently over his copy of the Daily Prophet.

"With Kingsley," she clarified.

"Nothing."

Her eyes narrowed. "I don't believe you."

"Would I ever lie to you, darling?"

"Yes."

He sighed loudly and put down the newspaper.

"I'm not lying."

She placed her fists on her hips as she continued to glare suspiciously.

"Not technically."

" _Tom!_ "

"What? Florian and Dolohov have done what was necessary."

"I can't _believe_ you!" She yelled as she advanced on him. "You can't just - he's the _Minister for Magic_ \- it's not -" she stammered before taking a deep breath. "Is he... is he alright, at least?"

He stared pointedly.

" _Tom-_ "

He rose to his feet and wrapped his long arms around her waist while she aggressively attempted to shrug him off.

"He's my friend. I couldn't bear it if anything-"

"I don't hear you complaining about not being in Azkaban. He will believe Potter. You know he will. Nothing good will come from it if he comes back."

"But-"

"Do you really think he'd still consider you a friend if he knew?" He asked, not allowing her to pull away. "That he'd still care about you if he discovered what you've done? What _we've_ done?"

"Th-that's beside the point!"

"Don't you see?" He insisted, his fingertips brushing her cheek. "I'm doing this for you. For _us._ "

"But... surely there's something else you can do," she insisted, trying to ignore the chills his words and his touch gave her. "Like... like... the Imperius curse! Or-"

"Athena's attempts are not holding. Kingsley is an exceedingly proficient wizard."

"But couldn't _you_ do it? She's nothing compared to you."

His lip twitched upward at her flattery. "I can't have him recognising me. He could shake off the curse at any time."

"So don't let him see you!" She insisted. "There are other options here, you _know_ there are."

When he didn't respond, she leaned into his hold and tried a softer approach. " _Please._ For me."

He looked away with a look of irritation, as if he were having a very hard time in restraining from rolling his eyes.

"For now, he is unharmed," he stated eventually. "He will remain that way for a fair while longer, while we still need him. But you know that it cannot stay that way forever."

 

*

 

Hot-headed was a term Hermione had often used to describe Harry. It was a trait that made him vulnerable, it made him susceptible to making mistakes and foolish, rash decisions. She, on the other hand, had never been one for hot-headedness. She knew that she was unable to see reason when she was angry, and so, she did her best to remain calm, _especially_ under stressful circumstances, to ensure the best possible outcome.

But this time, much like when she set a flock of birds after Ron in sixth-year, she just couldn't contain it. She wasn't sure what it was, whether it was his unspoken threat hidden beneath his smooth words, or whether her magic was amplifying her anger in the same way as it did her pleasure. All she knew, was the feeling of it _bubbling_ beneath her skin, fiery... hot...

_And red._

He would kill Kingsley, she knew that, there was no doubt about it. He would put it off, and feed her some _bullshit_ about it being necessary, all the while trying to convince her, _manipulate_ her, into seeing it his way. And then he would do it, regardless of what she thought on the matter, because in the end, he didn't actually _care._

But not today. Even though it might be her own undoing, she wouldn’t let him get to her friend. Not _Kingsley_.

Not while she had anything to say about it.

And it turned out that that her anger gave her the clarity to _finally_ recognise the loophole that she had been needing - the loophole she should have seen months ago, the instant she won her first piece of his trust and he allowed her to be a part of his business.

She still couldn't tell Harry about Tom, about _Voldemort..._ but she hadn't made any such vow about _Florian._

And so, with a heavy sense of justice and a little bit of spite sprinkled on top, Hermione pulled out a sheet of parchment and a quill from the top drawer of her desk.

**_Harry,_  
_Room 9 in interrogations is in need of cleaning._**

But was that enough? This was Harry... perhaps it needed to be a _little_ bit clearer.

She hummed thoughtfully before adding,

**_Room can't be used until it's cleaned. To a professional standard._  
_\- H_**

Harry may not have been the sharpest wizard she knew, but he certainly wasn't _stupid._ It wasn't as if she'd written the note in runes.

Hermione ducked out towards Harry's office. Seeing it empty on her arrival, she tucked the parchment under the folder at the top of his pile, and _prayed_ he'd understand.

 

*

 

Under usual circumstances, Harry hated working Saturdays. He would usually flat out refuse, using Ron's choice words on the matter; _bugger that!_ But with Kingsley missing, a Dark Lord within their midst, and a Deputy Minister whose reliability was questionable, he had felt that it was his _duty_ to hold down the fort at work. The plus side, of course, was the fact that the offices were reasonably empty. It was a golden opportunity to kick off his shoes and snoop through the other employee's desks for any evidence of Death Eater activity. But that afternoon, the surprise came from his very own desk, as he sifted through his files and he came across a letter simply labelled as 'Harry'.

With a growing feeling of suspicion, Harry tore it open and frowned as he read the parchment.

_H?_ Who the bloody hell was _H?_ And where did they get off telling him he had to _clean?_ _On a weekend?!_ He didn't slave away night and day, barely having time to see his family, just to get appointed to the Head of the Auror Office so that he could spend his weekends _cleaning._

H... there was him... Hannah downstairs... Hamish on level five... and-

_Hermione._

Harry almost beat his own head on the table for not thinking of her straight away. It had to be Hermione; no one else would have the gall.

_But what in Godric's name was she on about?_ It certainly wasn't his job to clean out interrogation rooms and she knew that, so why would she bother telling him to do it? But she had emphasised the words 'cleaning' and 'professional'.

_Cleaning professional, professional cleaning._

_What did that even mean?_ He didn't know a professional cleaner, nor did he have one. Maybe she meant the Ministry cleaners? But that wouldn't make sense, there were at least thirty of them! Unless it was someone else who had a cleaner, someone who -

Harry dropped the parchment.

With a quick intake of breath, Harry ran from the office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahahaha when i was writing the part with hermione and voldemort, i specifically had llamas with hats in mind. 'carl what did you do?'  
> 'caaaaaaaaarl that kills people!'


	24. A Minister's Downfall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god Tom, your crazy is showing

Hermione didn't hear anything in the days that followed, and it wasn't long after her anger settled that regret over her hasty actions began to sink in.

The Ministry apprehending Florian would hit Voldemort hard - too hard, if he traced it back to her tip off. He wouldn't take it lightly and he hadn't been wrong in that there were plenty of other ways to hurt her that weren't physical.

But, by the time it hit Wednesday and it didn't seem like her note would amount to anything, Hermione actually began to feel _relieved._

That was, until the next afternoon.

At first, she didn't think anything of the lack of Aurors present in the office, assuming they must have been scheduled in for a training day on a different floor. But then her attention was caught by Voldemort entering the office from her peripheral vision with his shoulders tensed, taking his time closing the door and closing the blinds to the windows.

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek as she watched him slowly move in her direction, his mask remaining expressionless. He stared as he approached, coming to a slow stop next to her desk. His gaze bored into her for a moment, the tension growing in the silence.

"Have I asked too much of you?" He finally asked, his voice surprisingly gentle.

She gulped, wary of his tone. She had seen with the Death Eaters that he was the most dangerous when he was calm.

"Are my requests too... _difficult_ for you to comprehend?" He continued.

She let out a deep breath as her fingers tightened around her quill.

"No," she said uncertainly.

He smiled humourlessly before he leaned forward and rested both fists on her desk.

"Then, _why_ do you insist on pushing me?"

She flinched at the venom laced in the way he hissed the words.

"What are you -"

"DO NOT PLAY DUMB WITH ME!" Hermione tensed in her seat as his fist collided with her desk and noticed the prominent veins in his neck, the slight tremor passing through his shoulders. "I have been lenient with you - far too lenient - but _no more_. It is time for you to get it through your _pretty little head_ of yours that your actions have consequences, and this time Granger, the blood will be on _your_ hands."

With that, he stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind him.

He didn't return for the rest of the day.

 

* * *

 

Knowing all too well that heading back to the house anytime soon wasn't the smartest idea, Hermione chose to leave the Ministry to head to Diagon Alley and not get herself entangled into what she was sure from the departmental carryon must have been Florian's arrest. Assisting Harry with his prosecution would surely be adding insult to injury.

As usual, Flourish and Blotts was warm and inviting, yet the rows of books didn't distract her to the same extent they normally would. She meandered through the aisles, hoping for something, _anything_ to take her mind off of the trouble she was in. To her irritation, it seemed that everything she came across, she had either read before, or had decided that they weren't worth her time.

But then she reached the end of the history section, and her eyes lit up.

There, filling an entire shelf end, were at least fifty fresh, _beautiful_ copies of the most recent edition of Hogwarts: A History. With a copy firmly grasped in her hands and a small smile, Hermione shuffled away to head for the seating area of the shop.

As she crossed the small store, she noticed a distinct head of hair in the reading section where she was heading that she would have recognised anywhere. Figuring that she was rather low in allies at present, she headed over.

"I'm seeing you everywhere these days," she said in greeting, drawing Draco's attention from his book.

He straightened at her words, his grey eyes widening a fraction as he lifted them from his reading to her.

"It would seem so," he answered, quickly snapping his book shut.

"Are you here alone?" She asked, intending on taking the seat opposite him.

"Yes," Draco said, before quickly adding, "well, no, not really. Astoria is down at Gladrags. She'll be meeting me once she's finished."

"Oh."

"You can sit down though," he offered unexpectedly. "Knowing her, she could be gone for hours."

"Thanks."

The silence between them grew awkward as he went back to flicking through his book, occasionally glancing up at her. She tried to ignore it and focus at the book in her hands, but she just couldn't take in any of the cursive print. Not even the enchanted images could keep her distracted, although the dancing couple on her current page were trying awfully hard.

She just couldn't stop thinking about how _angry_ he'd been. She hadn't seen him snap like that since the night she'd seen him cut his hand open by smashing that glass in the kitchen. Just when things were actually somehow _working_ between them against all odds, she'd gone and ruined it.

She tried to remind herself that he deserved it. He deserved a hell of a lot worse than his right-hand man being arrested, she knew that, but the treacherous part of her mind nagged that maybe her actions hadn't come from the good place of wanting him caught, at all.

She had just wanted to make him angry, the same way he had made her angry.

But what was she supposed to do about it now? He wasn't the type to take what he saw as a betrayal lightly, Narcissa had told her as much, and this time he had told her it would be on her hands. That meant he would retaliate.

_Christ_.

Had she simply taken a breath and thought it through, she wouldn't be in this mess!

But then a fresh idea crossed her mind. Draco might be able to relate to her situation. Who better to get advice from than a Malfoy, one who had been in her position multiple times?

She subtly shifted her chair closer.

"Erm... Draco?"

He hummed in acknowledgement.

"How did you manage when..." she shifted forward still on her chair, her voice lowering, "when _he_ was put out with you and your father?"

His eyes popped open in surprise at her question. Seeing her worried expression, he quickly glanced around them to make sure no one else was nearby before closing his book again and shifting forward on his own chair.

"What did you do?" He asked in a whisper, catching on more quickly than Harry or Ron ever had.

"I... I have reason to believe that Florian has been, or at least, will be, found by the Ministry," she whispered slowly, "and I'm fairly certain it's my fault."

He ran a hand through his short hair and let out a long breath. "Fucking hell, Granger."

"I _know._ "

"What do you mean you think it's your fault?"

"I _might_ have... anonymously tipped off Harry."

" _Fucking hell!_ "

"I _know!_ "

He took a moment to think, drawing his lip between his teeth as he pondered, before he eventually asked, "does he know? That it was you?"

"I think so."

" _Shit_."

"Yes."

He sighed loudly.

"Look. I'm not going to sugar coat this for you," Draco said. "You've fucked up. Majorly."

" _Do you think I don't know that?!_ "

"He won't be happy. He'll... _punish_ you in some way, I expect. I mean, it's probably come at a good time though; after Travers, he got a lot of it out of his system..."

"He can't. That's part of the vow. He can't hurt me."

Draco scoffed. "Do you really think that will stop him? If you're lucky, he'll just get someone else to do it for him. Someone, thankfully, less proficient at the torture curse. Probably Dolohov, now that I think about it, we've all seen the way she looks at you. That's the best you can hope for."

"And... if I'm _unlucky?_ "

His eyes softened. "He'll take something from you," he said sadly. "Like my mother."

For the first time in a _long_ time, Hermione allowed the dread to fully envelop her. She'd ensured her parent's and the Weasley's safety, but that didn't extend to anyone else she cared about. Not Luna, not Neville, not Hagrid, not any of her other Hogwarts friends, not anyone else in the Order.

"Hey," Draco said soothingly seeing her distress, learning across to pat her on the shoulder. "You never know. You seem to be the favourite lately. Maybe I'm wrong; I've always been on the outs, what would I know? Maybe he'll go easy."

"This can't... this has to stop," she whispered.

"I know."

"We have to stop him. He can't keep _taking_ , he can't just-" she broke off to run her hands through her hair. "He's ensured that I can't talk. But couldn't _you?_ You could speak to the Ministry, you could tell Harry -"

"Woah, woah, I don't have a death wish," he stated firmly. "He'll be mad enough as it is if he finds out I was even talking to you about this."

"But -"

"Look, this time around, I swore to myself that I would keep my head down, do as he says, and _survive._ I haven't told anyone other than my father yet, but... Astoria is pregnant. I have responsibilities now, a _family._ I can't-"

"All the more reason for you to be brave! Do you want your child, another Malfoy, to grow up under his influence? Because that's what you're subjecting them to-"

"Hey!"

"Come on, Draco, when are you finally going to stand up for what you believe in? I saw you and your father the other week, you weren't duelling to kill. You don't want this anymore than I do-"

"You know what, you're right," he said, leaning back in his chair. "We weren't duelling to kill. Not like you were."

His words were knives through her resolve.

"I suggest that you grovel. Use your... I don't know, womanly charm or something. Maybe he won't even torture you."

"Draco-"

"You know what, I think that's Astoria now," he said, rising from his seat. "Best of luck, Granger. If it's any consolation... I hope this isn't the last time I see you."

 

* * *

 

Success was a rare thing for him these days, but Harry couldn't believe his luck. Just _days_ after receiving the note, Voldemort's _cleaner_ had surfaced, and with Ron's assistance, he'd managed to stun the apparent woman before they entered the house. Making the moment all the more sweet, a quick _finite incantatem_ that Hermione had helped him perfect, revealed that the cleaner was _Florian Evrard._ Having found the man heading for the home of the head of department, Harry had even ensured that _Jenkins_ had nothing to do with the interrogation.

Excitement had ignited in his stomach. He was _finally_ getting closer. All he needed now, was a confession.

"Mr. Evrard," Harry began, taking his time to pace the small interrogation room. "You've proven to be quite the elusive man."

Florian blinked.

"Before we start the interview, I would like you to drink this." Harry placed the veritaserum in the centre of the table.

Florian eyed it, but didn't budge.

"Mr. Evrard. If you don't comply, you'll be forced to."

When he still didn't budge, Harry nodded toward the other side of the room. The other two Aurors in attendance swarmed forward, one holding Florian back in his chair while the other held his head back. He struggled formidably in their grip even though his wrists were tied, keeping his mouth firmly closed all the while. Finch took hold of his jaw and physically pried it open ever so slightly, giving Harry just enough room for the thin veritaserum vial.

Florian splurted out what he could of the potion, but Harry allowed it. He only needed a minuscule amount of the potion for it to take effect.

As he recovered, Florian glared viciously toward Harry, while Harry retook his place across the table, ready to begin.

"Have you been in contact with Lord Voldemort, Mr. Evrard?"

Florian squeezed his eyes closed and began to bounce his leg up and down as he resisted.

Harry exchanged a glance with Finch. "Answer the question, Mr. Evrard." When he still didn't answer, Harry pushed further, "Do you know his whereabouts?"

A low sound came from him, but other than that and his leg bouncing slightly more vigorously, Florian remained mum.

Harry sighed. "Mr. Evrard, you're facing life imprisonment in Azkaban. If you do not speak, you'll go into holding under the care of the dementors. You'll find that they will be significantly less accommodating than us."

Florian shook his head.

"Why were you attempting to visit the home of the head of the Department for Magical Law Enforcement?"

Another shake of his head.

"Was he expecting you?"

This time, he distinctly growled.

Knowing he must be close to cracking, Harry leaned his upper body across the table and pressed, "where is Voldemort?"

Florian hunched his shoulders over and groaned loudly.

" _Where - is - he?_ "

He shook his head vigorously, as if he were attempting to shake the potion out.

"You owe him nothing!" Harry snapped. "Whatever he's told you, it's a _lie_ , do you understand me?"

Florian met Harry's eyes with a glower, his lips slowly forming a toothy grin.

"He does not care about you! He will leave you in Azkaban to rot, like all the others before you!"

"I... will... be rewarded..." Florian ground out, his yellowed teeth still bared.

Harry sighed again. "Get the transfer to Azkaban ready," he instructed to the others, grudgingly accepting the lost cause.

"I am... his most loyal... most faithful..."

"Make it quick, Finch."

"He will... praise me... reward me... above all else..." Florian's grin grew, though his teeth were clenched. "Soon... the time will come..."

"Give it a rest."

"He will rise again... he will find you..." Florian tilted his head, resembling a curious bird. " _Harry Potter._.. the Boy Who Lived..."

"Yeah, like I haven't heard that before. _Finch!_ "

"Coming, sorry!" Finch jogged over, thrusting the papers in Harry's direction as Florian began to laugh.

He laughed all the way to Azkaban.

 

* * *

 

It took a decent amount of psyching up to twist the door handle. Eventually, having decided that she knew how to handle him - not that she had anything to be sorry about anyway - she pushed the door open. However, what she hadn't anticipated, was for him to be right _there._ Voldemort stood in the entrance hall, resting his head against the doorframe leading through to the living room as if he had been awaiting her return. She stopped in her tracks at the sight, letting the front door fall closed behind her.

He pushed himself off the wall and quickly approached. Before she could comprehend what he was doing, he bent down and pressed a swift kiss to her cheek. He stepped around behind her and moved his hands to her shoulders to give her a gentle push toward the dining room.

"I have a surprise for you, my love," he murmured in her ear, his stubble brushing her cheek. "I was going to wait. But in light of recent events..."

"I... what's -" Hermione broke off as she stepped into the dining room doorway and took in the long table. There, at the far end of the table facing them, sat _Kingsley._

The walls started to close in.

"I hope you don't mind company," he said softly in her ear.

Too surprised to move, Hermione remained in the doorway as Voldemort drifted around her into the room. She locked eyes with Kingsley, who sat rigidly, looking back with alarm.

"Hermione, _go_ ," he stated urgently, her name laced with panic, "Harry's _right_. _Go._ "

Hermione's lips parted in surprise. _He knew._ Voldemort hadn't bothered to hide it.

Kingsley's words had been panicked, and he appeared to be fighting in his seat as he waited for a response. Her eyes flicked towards Voldemort cautiously, knowing she needed to keep the situation calm if she wanted any hope of a positive outcome; an outcome being one where the Minister lived.

Voldemort had moved to the side of the table, and was pouring three glasses of wine by hand, looking utterly unbothered by Kingsley's words.

"Is - is he tied up?" She questioned, figuring it a relatively safe approach, having noticed the strange way Kingsley was struggling.

"Hermione, _go. Go now,_ while you can, _please_ ," Kingsley urged.

"He's awfully chatty," Voldemort commented offhandedly.

She shifted her weight and instinctively reached toward her back pocket for her wand. Only, she found that it _wasn't there._

"Please, take a seat," Voldemort continued, now looking toward her with a pleasant smile.

A lump weighed heavily in her throat as she tried to think of something, _anything_ that could get Kingsley out.

"Where is my wand?" She asked slowly.

He tilted his head ever so slightly. "I can't see why you'd need it."

She swallowed before she hesitantly stepped forward, fighting the strong impulse to run. She couldn't abandon Kingsley, and she knew she'd never make it out of the house with Voldemort's attention on her; he'd stop her before she even made it out of the dining room.

She slowly continued forward, not moving her eyes off of him. She hesitantly took up the place to the right of Kingsley to which he had gestured, keeping her muscles tense, ready to spring to action.

Kingsley looked toward her in disbelief. "No, _no,_ Hermione _, you have to go, now!_ "

She returned his gaze apologetically, her mouth opening, with no words able to come out.

"I - I _can't_ ," she breathed.

"You see, Minister," Voldemort began from opposite Hermione. "My lovely _fiancée_ here is quite aware of the current situation. In fact, she's known whom she shares this table with for months," he finished before he took a sip of his wine, the glass hiding the amusement on his lips.

Kingsley's eyes shot between the two, his expression soon becoming one that any poker player would have been envious of.

" _Please Kingsley_ ," she choked out, "you have to understand, I'm under a _vow_ , I couldn't say anything-"

"And it is because of her that you find yourself in my dining room this evening," Voldemort continued, ignoring Hermione's interjection. He slowly moved around the table towards her, each step on the hardwood floor echoing eerily through the room. He circled her when he reached her, placing his hands on her shoulders and bending down to her ear. "You see, she's been quite prone to misbehaviour lately, and I think it's about time she had another _lesson_."

The adrenaline surged as she heard Draco's warning in his words. She scrambled in her chair, attempting to rise to her feet, but was stopped by a pair of coarse ropes that had latched themselves around her wrists, tying her down to the armrests of the chair.

" _No!"_ She protested, putting her strength into tugging at the ropes.

"I confess myself quite fond of her unharmed, which is, of course, rather unfortunate for you Minister, as that is where you come in," Voldemort continued, and she almost heard his smile. He stepped back from her again, and drew his wand from his pocket, directing it toward Kingsley.

" _NO!_ " She yelled at the same time that Voldemort cast.

" _Crucio._ "

Kingsley writhed in his chair, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. He did a good job at keeping quiet - for a while at least. It didn't take long for his whines to turn into a deep yell as he thrashed, sweat beading on his forehead.

"Please! Please stop it!" She begged, firmly clenching her eyes shut.

She felt Voldemort's hands lace around her jaw tightly, forcing her head up.

" _Look, Hermione_ ," he instructed gruffly, as he directed her head towards Kingsley. " _I want you to see what you've done._ "

"Please! This isn't about him! Take it out on me!"

"Would you prefer it if I were to end it?"

" _No, please, PLEASE! I'll do anything! Anything, I swear!_ " She yelled, understanding the meaning behind his words.

He broke off his curse and moved around the table again to meet her eyes. His dark eyes were a vivid contrast to how they'd been moments before, now wide, manic, and _chilling._

"You swear. _You swear?! YOUR WORDS DON'T MEAN A THING TO ME ANYMORE!"_

"I'm _sorry, please!_ " She pressed desperately.

He stepped away from the table, and _smiled._ Slowly he broke into a deep, chilling laugh that didn't quite fit.

"I'm afraid 'sorry' just isn't going to cut it," he said after a moment, turning his wand back to Kingsley.

She screamed at the same moment Kingsley did as he continued to torture him.

" _Please, please - Tom - please_ ," she tried.

At her words, he stopped the spell and his eyes snapped back to hers.

" _You do not use that name_ ," he said scathingly with a twitch of his jaw, now directing his wand at her.

"I'm sorry, _I'm sorry,_ I didn't mean to hurt you, but I just needed to _talk_ to someone! I'm going _crazy_ here all alone! Harry is the only one who -"

" _You - have - me!_ " He yelled, stepping closer again.

"I know, I know, _I'm sorry!_ " She pressed, hoping it was finally what he wanted to hear.

He held her eye contact, his jaw twitching again. His nostrils flared as he breathed deeply.

"I'm sorry."

"You -" Kingsley gurgled, drawing their attention away from each other. "We tr-trusted you."

Hermione let out a small sob seeing him staring directly at her.

"You're ju-just as ba-bad as him," he finished as he gasped in a breath of air.

Voldemort broke out in a grin and again focused on Hermione.

"You see? He doesn't care about you. To him, you're the _enemy_ ," he said, suddenly gentle, making his way back around the table. "No one will understand. Not him, not Potter, not the Weasley's... _no one._ "

Hermione focused on the table, trying to ignore the way his words stung.

_But he was right._

_He was always right._

"All you have - all that you _need_ \- is me," he continued, lightly brushing her cheek with his fingertips.

" _No_ ," she whispered defiantly, tearing her eyes from his as she felt her tears run down her cheeks. "That's not true."

He pulled his hand back again and straightened to his full height, visibly stiffening at her disagreement.

"You'll find that it is," he said smoothly, turning back to Kingsley.

He directed his wand at the Minister once more and tilted his head as if considering him.

Kingsley met his eyes without fear and spat in his direction.

Voldemort laughed.

" _Avada Kedavra._ "

" _NO!_ "

Hermione screamed as Kingsley's head slumped back against the chair, his eyes open and unseeing.

" _No, no, no, no, no, I'm sorry,_ " she cried as she thrashed against the ropes tying her down, looking away from the late Minister. " _I'm sorry... I'm sorry..._ "

Her chair was pulled out from the table with her still tied to it, cutting off her soft words. He bent down to her level, once more grasping her face with his large hands. She tried to shake off his grip, but to no avail.

"I forgive you," he said quietly, simply.

Lashing out with her legs, she kicked as hard as she could in his direction, though the small distance in which she could move didn't give enough force to push him back. He moved forward, stopping her legs with his own as he moved his thumbs across her cheeks to wipe at her tears.

"Don't you understand? _I did this for you_ ," he urged as his grip tightened on her jaw. "I promised, don't you remember? I'll look after you, I'll give you _everything_. And isn't this what you've always wanted?"

She let out a scoff between her sobs.

" _You think I wanted my friend dead?_ " She demanded, finally meeting his eyes again.

" _The Ministry_ ," he stated. "It will be _yours_ now."

" _I don't want it like this!_ " She yelled.

He exhaled through his nose before an expression of defeat crossed his features and rose back to his feet, moving away from her.

_Kingsley was dead. The Minister for Magic was dead._

_It was her fault._

Slowly, she managed to regain control of her sobs, letting her tears fall silently.

"You would do well to be thankful," he began, stepping behind her.

She didn't have it in her to respond. There was no reasoning with a mad man.

She closed her eyes and cringed as she felt his hands lace their way through her hair, gently rubbing over her scalp.

"The sooner you realise that no one will ever care for you the way that I do, the better off you'll be," he said, stroking her hair back.

As she sat trying to keep the contents of her stomach down and her emotions under control, there was one thought that she simply couldn't shake. A thought that though it was horrible, it made her _powerful_.

In his own sick, twisted way... _he truly cared for her._

_She could use that._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ummm yea  
> In case anyone wanted to know, this is probably my favourite chapter. I wrote the bulk of it during my Jury Duty in October 2016, and this was actually where I had planned on ending 'Part 1'. I was so excited putting it together, and I'm so happy to have finally gotten it out for you all to read even though it's kinda fucked up and a little bit rushed. I hope you enjoy!  
> I initially thought this would happen around 100,000 words in, but clearly I am not a good planner!


	25. Disconnect

The missing Minister didn't remain missing for long.

Two days later, and the news had spread like wildfire. From the Daily Prophet to Witch Weekly, there wasn't a single media report of anything aside from the Minister, the life he had lived, and how tragic it was that he'd been found dead in his own home.

No signs of a struggle. No signs of a break in. No signs at all of foul play.

It was only the Quibbler that dared to suggest it mightn't have been a heart attack, and it was only the Quibbler that likened Kingsley to Narcissa.

Not that Hermione saw any of this. No, two days after the fact, and Hermione was still safely holed up in her cottage, refusing to so much as look at any of the five letters she'd received that day.

She didn't recall making the conscious decision to hide away. She didn't even remember making the decision to apparate to the cottage. The only thing she had in mind when her wand was returned to her, was the need to get far, far away.

So, she had.

He didn't follow her.

And for once, she was almost sad for that fact, because she told herself she'd kill him if he did.

This time, she almost believed herself.

 

* * *

 

Ginny had taught herself to anticipate loss. She'd been preparing herself for such an occurrence since she was eleven years old and woke up to be told that if it hadn't been for Harry, she would have been dead.

In this particular case, she knew it was coming. All Harry had been able to speak of for the past week was Kingsley, how he was due back over a week ago, how it wasn’t like him not to respond to any form of communication, and recently, how he thought Voldemort had taken him.

Yet, even with all this, she still found herself unprepared for the image of Kingsley adjusting his hat printed on the front page of that day's copy of the Daily Prophet, headed with the words; **BRITAIN WITHOUT MINISTER.**

She was even more unprepared for Harry's outburst of rage as she somberly passed him the paper, which in turn had Lily screeching with everything her little lungs had, successfully disturbing James from his bowl of baby food.

She juggled the squirming baby to the side of her body and bounced her, reaching out for her husband with her other arm.

But before he could accept her touch, James too started to bellow, slamming his hands into his bowl. She diverted her attention to her son with exasperation, while Harry took the opportunity to storm out of the kitchen.

And before she knew it, Harry was gone, and she was juggling two inconsolable infants, and James had managed to throw his food all over the table and himself and through his hair, and she was left, once again, on her own.

 

* * *

 

Hermione knew she needed to return to work at the Ministry. Not because she wanted to – _she didn’t_ – or because she wanted to see anyone – _she_ absolutely _didn’t_ – but because no matter how detached she became, and no matter how many times she told herself she hated him, she just couldn't leave the Ministry while Voldemort was there unsupervised.

She needed to go back, for the greater good.

There would be a vote, and even if she wasn't planning on taking the role of Minister, there needed to be someone that would object if Voldemort was nominated. Because if it wasn't her, there was a good chance it might be him.

She couldn't let it be him.

And so, she Flooed to the Ministry that morning, not a care for fixing the bags under her eyes from a lack of sleep or the shaking of her hands from a lack of magic. While she knew that going in while managing her withdrawals wasn't a wise decision, she just didn't have it in her to _care_. Rumours about her health were the least of her worries, and the detachment from the deeply buried grief was exactly what she needed.

That morning, the Atrium was as busy as any other day, staff and visitors hurrying in every which way, memos flying overhead like a flock of migratory birds. It almost seemed normal. Yet, stepping into the crowd, Hermione easily registered the air of _unease_ among them, the way they all seemed to check over their shoulders and speak in whispers for fear of being overheard.

It reminded her of how it'd been, before. How it had been when they'd snuck into the Ministry in disguise. It - _war_ \- truly was rearing its head again, and the citizens were finally seeming to notice.

 _Good_ , she thought to herself. _It was about time._

"Granger."

She almost yelped at the sudden voice in her ear, taking her off guard. Before she had a single moment to respond, she was roughly pulled off course by her sleeve over to a quiet nook of the atrium. It was only after the man had searched their surroundings and was seemingly satisfied that they weren't being watched that he finally released her.

She readjusted her cloak that he'd pulled all the way off of her shoulder before she narrowed her eyes.

"I was starting to think you weren't gonna show."

She held Draco's stressed expression with her own suspicious one. "Have you been waiting for me?" She asked with a hint of disbelief. "How long were you out here?"

"Doesn't matter," he insisted quickly, his urgent tone rendering her quiet. He searched her as his expression softened, opening his mouth to speak but quickly shutting it, seeming to think better of whatever he was going to say.

She was grateful. She wasn't sure how she'd respond if he asked how she was.

"Look," he started eventually. "I've been thinking about what you said, you know, that time at the Manor? And in light of... recent _events_... I think you were right about leaving the country. We should go. All of us. Potter and Weasley too."

Had he not spoken as seriously as he had, she might've commented on him admitting that she was right.

"Draco-"

"Let me explain. When my father was in Azkaban, I knew about every dime of what came in and what went out of our accounts. Since he's been released, thousands upon thousands of galleons have been moved out at an unprecedented rate, all into pockets of those sitting on the Wizengamot. I didn't know what to make of it until... until the Minister was found dead," Draco said lowly before he shook his head, the words a knife to her gut. "You-Know-Who… he's taking the position, Granger, for himself, and when he does… I don't want to be here to see the fallout."

Hermione's expression softened shook her head. "That's not it-"

"He's paying off every _single_ member of the Wizengamot, and _now_ the Minister's dead!" Draco shot quietly, his voice lined with panic. "I thought you were the smart one."

"That's not what I mean. You're on the right track, but I _mean_ , he doesn't want to be Minister. He never has."

Draco brushed her comment off with an audible growl. "So he puts in someone else, then. That hardly changes the fact that it'll be just like last time. _Worse_ , even."

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but promptly closed it, shifting uncomfortably under Draco's scrutinising watch.

"I... I'm not sure who will end up in the position. I don’t think he’d take it for himself, not unless it’s a last resort. But if that happens, or if I’m wrong, I'll do everything in my power to make sure it's not him."

"Fat lot of good you'll be able to do once it gets to the Wizengamot," Draco muttered, holding the bridge of his nose as he sighed. "I suppose it could be Croaker... or even Weasley could be nominated now that I think about it, not that he's likely to win a vote. Normally the Ministers are pushed out through Law Enforcement though, and if it's not _him_ , then that leaves Potter, but he'll never win, not with the bribes..." Draco trailed off after a loud intake of air, his eyes widening. "Unless... unless it's _you_."

She shifted again, averting her eyes.

"Granger, it could be _you._ "

"I know."

"Y-you have to do it."

"No," she said at once. "I won't-"

"But you have to!" Draco cut her off, his tone ever so slightly brighter than it'd been previously. "If it's not you, then it'll be someone else in the circle, and if there's one thing we can trust, it's that whoever that may be will be worse than you."

Slowly, she nodded.

"That's true," she agreed softly. "But I'm not going to accept the nomination. I can't. I don’t want it this way, and I refuse to be a pawn in this... _this-_ "

"But you'd be _Minister_."

She tucked her shaky hands into her pockets before she sighed.

"I can't do it, because that's exactly what _he_ wants."

Draco's eyebrows came together. "That doesn't make sense."

"Draco-"

"He's _told_ you this?" He asked, his expression becoming one she hadn't seen directed at her in many years. "He's told you that he wants _you_ as _Minister?_ "

Slowly, she nodded.

"Granger..." he started, his voice becoming cautious. "I didn't ask you before because I didn't think I had to, but... how deep, exactly, are you in all this?"

"Deep enough,” she muttered.

"When you sit next to the Dark Lord... is that just for show?"

" _What?_ "

"Are you in his circle, with the rest of us?" He asked, his tone dropping as his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Or are you in his _pocket?"_

From the way he worded the questions she suddenly didn't feel quite so detached, anymore.

"How _dare_ you stand there and judge me, as if out of the two of us, it wasn't _you_ who chose to take his mark on your arm! I didn't get a say in this!" She shot, her voice cooling to ice. "Or have you forgotten that just as you've forgotten the vows you made to him in the first place?!"

Draco stiffened, as though her words had physically slapped him.

"You know... you sound... almost _just_ like-"

But whoever she sounded just like, she didn't get to hear, for at that moment, Draco's eyes rose to glance over her shoulder and he _blanched._

"Mr. Malfoy."

The sound of his voice made her straighten and caused something to rumble deep in her stomach, something thick and unsettled and red.

 _Seeing_ him made it lurch.

Voldemort moved gracefully to stand almost between them and rested a hand on Draco's shoulder in what could've easily been mistaken for a friendly gesture.

It was only the whitening of his knuckles that showed it for what it was.

"I must confess myself surprised to see you here so early in the morning," he directed to Draco, his teeth showing as he spoke.

"I-I was... I was just-"

“Especially in such company.” Voldemort’s eyes glanced to Hermione, though she was quite intentionally looking away. “You know, I’m not sure whether it might’ve occurred to you, Draco, but a known follower of the Dark Lord, seen publicly speaking with the deputy head of Law Enforcement, might seem… a little bit…well, _suspicious_.”

“I-no,” Draco spurt quickly, shaking his head. “I mean – yes. But I-”

"I don't want to see you here again." Though Voldemort was smiling, the words were sharp.

Draco's prominent Adam's apple bobbed.

"I don't care if you have a permit to apply for, or a fine to contest, or even a fucking court summons-" Draco winced as Voldemort’s hand squeezed "-unless you're coming in with a team of Aurors and your wrists are tied behind your back, do not come here again," he finished with his smile still in place, his tone perfectly polite yet plainly venomous. "Do you understand me?"

"Y-yes," Draco squeaked, noticeably trying to avoid his eye contact.

"Good." Voldemort released his hold on his shoulder to pat him as if congratulating him. "Now why are you still here?"

Draco didn't hesitate for a single moment before he dashed out of the quiet corner, disappearing out into the crowd in the direction of the exit, leaving the two of them alone.

Hermione glanced up to meet Voldemort's eyes for the first time in days only long enough to glare before she, too, left the corner, heading in the direction of the lifts.

But unlike the last time she left him, he followed.

"Are you going to enlighten me as to what that was?" He asked lowly, catching up with her with ease.

She kept her chin pointed upward stubbornly as she walked. "No."

He gripped her wrist, his touch burning through her sleeve. "Hermi-"

"I don't want to speak with you."

His hand tightened, just as it had on Draco’s shoulder.

"Then I suppose it's a good thing that I don't particularly care what you want."

She pulled her arm as suddenly and subtly as she could manage, not wanting to draw any attention from the other workers.

He didn't let go. In fact, it only made him pull her closer.

"Since when are you and _Malfoy_ ," he continued lowly, "close enough for visits at the office?"

"We're friends. You should be glad we're getting along," she said tartly as they came to a stop in front of the lifts.

As they stood, she could feel the heat of his eyes boring into her skin, burning the flesh, yet still she refused to look in his direction.

"End it."

The elevator chimed, and the group of workers took their time in vacating it. Hermione stepped forward into the waiting lift as soon as they were clear without a word, her lips thinning as it seemed they would have it to themselves.

" _Green_ really isn't your colour," she eventually said once the doors drifted shut, her head firmly pointed in the direction of the doors.

"Don't flatter yourself." She could hear his scowl. "If he thinks himself close to you, he'll soon think himself close to me."

Hermione scoffed deep in her throat, continuing to hold her head stubbornly high. "I will speak with whom I wish."

The elevator sounded as they passed the first floor, and she nearly missed his soft laugh.

At the sound, she finally turned to look at him to see him grinning in her direction, his eyes alight and greedy like a child who had been offered his favourite toy.

The _thing_ in her stomach became heavy.

"I've missed you."

His voice made it drop lower, the muscles in her lower abdomen tightening to hold onto it.

"I can't say the same."

He didn’t respond as his eyes roamed downward hungrily, pausing at her lips, slowly drifting down her neck, down to where her skin vanished behind her cloak.

It was uncomfortable. It was surely how it felt to be consumed, eaten alive slowly, piece by piece, and she hated it, but god, the thing twisting in her stomach wanted it, craved it, _needed_ it-

She wanted to scream.

Instead, she tore her focus off him and looked ahead, her eyes burning into the elevator doors that just wouldn't _open._

But then they did, and the feeling passed.

"I’m not speaking with you,” she repeated before she moved. Although she’d spoken it as a clearer statement this time, her voice carried none of the conviction she’d intended to put into it, and it almost sounded as if she could’ve been speaking to herself.

She left the confined space of the lift, and even though he waited behind and gave her the space she desired, she was sure he knew that the words hadn’t been for him.

 

* * *

 

Hermione was yet to experience something more effective than a death in the department at rendering her co-workers silent. While normally she would’ve hated the way they traded their usual greetings for pitying glances and supportive pats on the shoulder, this time, the way they tip-toed around the subject suited her just fine.

She didn’t think she’d be able to handle worker after worker asking how she was doing, or even worse – more talk of who would take the now vacant position.

It wasn’t that she was afraid she’d break down, though. It was exactly the opposite.

While she knew she should have mourning like the rest of them were, all she felt was… numb. She felt more disconnected from her own self than she ever had, and while she knew it wasn’t healthy, and she knew that the effects of the magic were possibly becoming severe, she just… _didn’t care._

After all, feeling nothing was far better than the alternative.

With the bags under her eyes doing the talking for her, she found it was relatively easy to return her co-worker’s quiet gestures. Most were satisfied with a tight smile and a pat on the shoulder. She even managed to last a whole hour before anyone tried to hug her.

She held back a grimace as she returned the silent hug from Janice and collected the letters that had come in to reception, before heading back in the direction of her office.

But as she reached the hallway coming from the Auror offices, she had an overwhelming sense of déjà vu seeing Harry storm past towards her office.

She knew that face, all too well.

She was absolutely positive; he was about to do something reckless.

She was struck with familiar the urge to step in, protect him by stopping him from doing something he'd regret, but... she didn't.

Instead, she stood and watched stoically as Harry tore the door open and stormed in, all too aware of the havoc he would bring with him.

And then she walked away.

 

* * *

 

"You _bastard!_ " Harry growled as he approached the man stood over by the large desk in the centre of the room, raising his wand in his direction.

"Good morning, Potter," he greeted pleasantly, his lips turning up in a subtle way that was almost playful. “What might I do for you?”

" _Shut up! Just - shut - up!_ "

Voldemort held his smile as he eyed the tip of Harry's wand and straightened to properly face Harry, slowly raising his hands submissively, palms forward.

" _You killed him!_ "

Voldemort remained quiet, watching the way Harry's arm quivered

A long moment passed before Harry ground out, " _well?!_ "

"I thought you wanted me to shut up."

The following smirk was all it took to tip Harry over the edge. He lunged forward, pushing the tip of his wand into Voldemort's neck.

" _You're under arrest_ ," Harry scathed, his words shaking with anger.

But instead of the reaction he expected, all he received was a deeper smirk.

"You don't have the authority," said Voldemort, breaking his smile momentarily to wince as Harry pressed his wand in further.

"A citizens arrest can hold you for 48 hours. That's all I need."

"And what do you think you'll do once your time is up?"

"You'll be convicted."

"Perhaps," he said, another _fucking_ slow smirk forming on his lips. "Or, perhaps you won't find anything at all. Perhaps an unfortunate incident will befall Mrs. Potter and -"

Harry pressed the wand deeper into his neck, the tip visibly starting to burn his skin. " _I will kill you._ "

Voldemort outright grinned.

"Go on then. Do it."

Harry's wand arm shook with anger.

"I'd like to see you _try_ ," Voldemort laughed, the movement pressing the wand harder into his neck. "But you can't, can you Harry? You don't have the nerve. Just like then, when she killed your _beloved_ Sirius Black, you didn't have it in you _then_ , and you don't have it in you _now_ –"

With a roaring bang that echoed through the office, Voldemort was thrown back across the room into the bookcase, the impact strong enough to knock multiple shelves out of place, the books tumbling loudly to the ground.

Voldemort winced from the impact of his head into the solid shelf, and let out a groan of pain as he reached up for his neck. Harry's spell had hit right below his jaw, and blood slowly started to weep from the gash that marked the spot. Voldemort grinned for a moment as he inspected the blood on his hand, before he moved his other arm off of the shelf, and his expression very suddenly returned to one of pain.

"What on _earth_ is going on in here?!"

Harry’s wand was still directed at Voldemort and he didn't lower it as Penrose barged into the room, followed by multiple Aurors and office workers who had heard the impact of the spell.

"Potter, lower your wand," Finch instructed, his own wand raised in Harry's direction.

He didn't.

" _Potter._ "

Harry didn’t budge.

Voldemort slowly rose his hands from where he leaned against the bookcase, palms forward once more. “Put the wand down, Harry,” he said in a tone that was so perfectly _fucking_ gentle, so perfectly well-rehearsed that had Harry stepping forward, his feet dangerously close to the edge. “We can sort this out.”

“Potter. This is your last warning,” Finch urged. “If you don’t put your wand down, I will be forced to act.”

But he didn’t put the wand down. He couldn’t, not now that he was certain, not while he had him – _Voldemort_ – on the ground at his mercy after all these years. He’d ignored his gut time and time again and given everyone the benefit of the doubt, and they’d been _wrong_.

But it would end now. No more would die, no longer would he and his family live in fear, not while he had any say in the matter.

He tightened his grip on his wand. His lungs filled with air.

He’d dreamt about this moment, he’d waited far too long–

But Finch beat him to it.

The stunning spell met its mark at the same moment that Harry opened his mouth, and Harry crumpled to the ground, his head falling back onto the carpet with a dull thud.

The room fell silent momentarily before Penrose and the other Aurors sprung to action. Voldemort allowed Penrose to help him to his feet while Finch pulled the wand out of Harry’s unconscious grip.

And after assuring the others multiple times that he was just fine, and the attention of the Aurors turned to Harry, Voldemort, once again, smiled.


	26. Imprisonment

The holding cells of the Ministry had a different feel to them from the inside.

They were colder. Hollower.

Being locked up brought with it a new perspective, one that Harry hadn't even considered to think about while he was a free man.

It hadn't been so bad to start with. The room was warm enough, the small bed in the corner was soft enough. He'd grown up in a dusty cupboard half the size of his given cell – it wasn't anything he couldn't handle.

After a full day of being in there, however, the small cell began to feel more like the prison that it was. He was forced to use the stand-alone toilet next to his bed, he hadn't been given a change of clothes, and there was nothing to do but _think._

Since waking up in the cell, he hadn't had any visitors. No one came to question him. No one came to charge him. He hadn't even been permitted to contact Ginny. It was completely against protocol.

Voldemort's doing, he was sure.

But he was comforted knowing that Ginny would know something was wrong, soon. One day she could overlook, but when he didn't come home for a second, she'd come to find him. He knew she would.

But with nothing there to distract him, Harry only had the option of lying there, replaying the day before.

He should've been faster.

He shouldn't have hesitated - _why did he always fucking hesitate?_

He should've thrown him back with more than a knockback jinx. He should've hit him with something that was _at least_ permanently damaging.

Instead, he'd been a fool. Like all those years before, he still hadn't been able to do it.

And, _where was everyone?_

He knew Voldemort would've had a strong hold of the department by now, but how was it that _no one_ had come to see him? Surely not _everyone_ could be under his control.

As long as there was someone on his case who wasn't working for Voldemort, he would be fine, he told himself repeatedly. All he needed was someone who trusted him and allowed him to have the Order's backing as witnesses, and he'd be fine.

Either way, his assault was minor. It was just a knockback jinx. There was no way he could possibly be charged, even without Kingsley.

He was sure.

"Harry... Potter."

His head snapped up at the voice, _that voice._ The first voice he'd heard in over a day, and it was the very one he wanted to _burn._

The rage he'd been holding onto lurched as he saw him. Harry hadn't seen nor heard him come in, making the sight of him an unnerving one. The man he knew to be Voldemort stood a mere foot away from the other side of the bars of his cell, his head tilted to the side curiously.

Each and every one of Harry's muscles contracted.

"I think it's about time we had a little chat, don't you?"

 

* * *

 

Hermione hadn't touched a single piece of dark magic since the last time she left Voldemort's house, and now, her body was punishing her for it. Initially, she'd welcomed the discomfort and the lack of feeling that came along with it. But soon after, much sooner than when she'd tried to stop after using the Cruciatus curse, it became _unbearable_.

And so, she found herself back at the house. She didn't remember making the conscious decision to apparate there. One minute, she'd been at the Ministry clutching her throbbing head in her hands, and the next, she'd been materialising on his doorstep like a hopeless addict failing to get clean.

The ward he'd installed on the door remembered her, and it opened after a shaky twist on the handle. She was grateful; being business hours, she knew he wasn't there, and she didn't know what she would've done, had she been locked outside.

Her gratefulness at her ease of entry faded away as quickly as it had set in. Returning to the house, stepping through the hallway and seeing the dining room again, brought that night flooding back, and only seemed to add to her nausea.

The dining room had been returned to its usual state of pristine. It looked perfectly mundane; as if she'd never been tied down to the chair. As if Kingsley hadn't been tortured and murdered in the one at the end.

Her skin felt like it was crawling.

 _You're just as bad as him_ , Kingsley had said.

She thought about how she'd barely lasted a week without Voldemort. A measly week, and she'd come crawling back to his house after swearing to herself she'd never go back.

It made her think that maybe Kingsley was right.

But almost as soon as she'd had that thought, she also considered that maybe, _she needed to be._

Dumbledore has lost his life trying to fight Voldemort the _right_ way. Kingsley and Harry had gone for Voldemort using the same strategy for their entire lives, and look where it got them.

Look where it got Lupin, and Tonks, and Sirius. Look where it got Fred, and Snape and Mad-Eye.

Maybe she was as bad as him.

But maybe a different perspective was what they needed.

Maybe Voldemort meeting his match was the only thing that could finally stop him, once and for all.

 

* * *

 

"Are you going to kill me?" Harry managed from between clenched teeth.

"Oh," Voldemort sounded, his expression softening into something that would've looked like sadness had it been on anyone else. "Oh, Harry. Harry, Harry, I don't want you dead. Not anymore."

He stepped forward, closing the distance so that he was very nearly touching the bars.

"No. There would be no fun in that. You see," he began, crouching to lowering himself to eye level with Harry, "I want to watch as everything you know is slowly... _taken from you_ ," he cocked his head to the side as his eyes lit up, his sadness morphing into excitement rapidly. "I want you to _live_ as everything and everyone you love is taken from you, one... by... _one_. I want you to _feel_ what it is like. I want you to be left with _nothing_ , just as you left me.

"And it's already begun, has it not?" He asked, his excitement peaking. "Your reputation... your _job_... your mudblood."

Harry flinched at the reference to Hermione, and Voldemort did not miss it.

"Oh _yes._ She is quite infatuated with me, I must say. Had I known how easy it would be, I'd have taken her much sooner."

Harry's fists came down upon the bars, the ringing of the metal echoing down the deserted block of cells.

Voldemort did not flinch.

"Next, though, I think I'll have your freedom," he went on with a gentler tone, watching Harry's knuckles tighten on the bars. "A guilty verdict of assault on a Ministry employee has a maximum sentence of ten years, depending on the severity. But, you know, in a case as special as yours, I think I can make an exception." He leaned in closer to the bars. "I think I can get you _fifteen_."

Harry's nostrils flared, his breath coming out jagged with restraint.

Voldemort grinned.

"Your children will be grown, after all that time. How... poetic, wouldn't you say, Harry?" He said. "You grew up longing for your parents... and now your children will long for you-"

Harry's restraint snapped in a roar.

" _I - will -_ kill _\- you!"_

Voldemort laughed and laughed, teeth bared.

"Oh, how I look forward to the day when you say that, and I can believe it. Truly, I do."

Harry audibly growled, his palms slamming down on the bars once more.

"You'll be transferred shortly," Voldemort went on conversationally. "I really must get on with that, now that I think about it," he added, glancing down at his watch.

"No. _No-_ "

"Fear not. It shouldn't take more than a day, and then, you'll be off to your more... _permanent_ lodgings. We can't very well hold a violent offender such as yourself _here_."

Smug smile firmly in place, Voldemort stepped back from the bars, back in the direction of the hall toward the offices as Harry scrambled at the bars to follow.

“ _No!_ ”

"Do have a nice stay, Harry. I have it on good authority that the dementors are just _longing_ to meet you again."

 

* * *

 

Dark clouds spiraled, spinning around her forcefully. Up and up, the wind swept, her hair tangling as it danced along with it.

Gradually, the winds intensified, pushing with a force that threatened to knock her off her feet. The dust flying upward whipped against her skin, burning into her arms and legs and face, grain by torturous grain.

She willed it to stop, to pass on, to slow – anything to get it off of her. Yet it would not obey, and all attempts only seemed to _anger_ it. The wind grew harsher, thrashing against her, roaring violently. It lifted her from the ground as it ripped past her, robbing her of the air of her lungs and her ability to see.

Higher and higher she went, and even higher still, until – _it suddenly stopped._

Releasing her as rapidly as it had caught her, she plummeted toward the ground, spinning and spinning, faster and _faster,_

_and then-_

The sound of a heavy door closing woke Hermione.

She shot up, gasping for air hungrily like her life depended on it as her mind struggled to comprehend that she wasn't falling, that it had just been a dream.

_Only a dream._

Darkness still surrounded her, and she couldn't remember where she was or when she'd fallen asleep. She felt herself seated on a familiarly comfortable couch and dug her fingers into the soft cushions. Even though it felt still beneath her and the wind of the nightmare had ceased, it still seemed that the darkness around her was spinning.

She slowly turned her head toward the approaching sound of footsteps on hardwood. She rubbed her eyes, brushing away the sleep that had built up in their corners as the footsteps grew louder, squinting as she looked towards where light was seeping in underneath a door.

"...have all passed through without interruption."

Hermione thought she vaguely recognised the slightly nasal voice, but couldn't immediately put a finger on it. She knew she could've picked it had she had long enough to consider it, but before she could, a second, far more familiar voice said, "excellent."

Their footsteps grew louder still. "The last of it is to be transferred through to the Dodge's. It will be going through tomorrow-" the voice broke off suddenly at the same time Hermione snapped her eyelids shut as the door swung open and the room filled with light.

"Oh. I-is that _Grang_ -"

"Hermione?"

At the sound of her name, she opened her heavy eyes, but immediately closed them again, the light still burning into her de-sensitised retinas.

She heard light footsteps cross the room, and shortly after felt a gentle touch on her shoulder.

"Hermione?" His voice repeated. "Can you open your eyes?"

"Mmm... hurts," she mumbled, shielding her eyes with her hands.

Through her eyelids, she could see when the light was switched back off.

Her eyes adjusted back to the darkness quickly to find Voldemort crouched in front of her. She glanced past him to see Lucius Malfoy standing back in the doorway, seeming as if he wasn't quite sure what, exactly, he was witnessing.

Voldemort followed her gaze to his follower. "Lucius, I'm going to need to reschedule."

"B-but, My Lord..."

"Come back tomorrow."

"I don't-"

" _Come back tomorrow._ "

With a defeated glance between Hermione and his Lord, Lucius nodded. "Yes, My Lord."

Lucius was gone in a flash and Voldemort's focus was upon her just as quickly. "Hermione?"

Slowly, she pulled his hand off of her shoulder and clasped it between her own. She let out a shaky breath as the solidity of his touch seemed to slow the room's spinning.

"I don't-" she managed to force out, her eyes focusing on his hand in hers, "I still don't want to speak with you."

His brows softly furrowed, a question forming on his lips.

She didn't give him a chance to ask it. "I just want you to make it better."

Understanding flashed across his features before he untangled his hand and brought his hands to encircle her jaw.

She almost moaned at the feel of it.

"Like this?"

She held onto his wrists, clinging like he was a lifeline. Slowly, she nodded.

"Here," he said, releasing her too soon. "Let me help you up."

She allowed it – though at this point, she wouldn't have been able to stop him had he forced it.

As soon as she stood, his long arms circled around her and she leaned into him, humming at the soothing sound of his breathing and the feeling of his hands trailing along the skin of her lower back underneath her shirt.

He was still.

He was calm.

She rested her head against his chest, and they didn't speak for the rest of the night.

 

* * *

 

Hermione woke the next morning curled up under his sheets, her head tucked into the crook of his arm.

Her head no longer throbbed. Her sleep had been deep.

No dreams came for her.

The room was still.

She pushed herself up, feeling him shift on the mattress beside her.

"Good morning," he murmured as she rose, his dark eyes following her as she went to collect her clothes from the floor.

She ignored him.

"You can't ignore me forever."

After she'd clipped her bra, she slipped her arms through the sleeves of her blouse. "No, but I can certainly ignore you for a while longer."

A low rumble came from his chest as he continued to watch, showing no signs of moving himself.

"The nominations are today."

She buttoned her blouse, taking her time between each one. "I know."

"Your name will be spoken."

"I know."

"Will you accept it?"

After zipping her skirt up, she found her wand on the dresser. She snatched it up and tucked it into her waistband. Finally, she turned back toward the bed to face him, finding him resting on his pillow with his arms tucked behind his head. She ignored his question, instead asking one of her own, one she should’ve asked much sooner. "What have you done with Harry?"

He rolled his eyes. "I've gotten him out of the way. That's it."

She raised a single eyebrow.

"Don't give me that," he said with a light scowl. "No matter how much I want to, I can't touch him. Not with our vow in place. You know that."

"Yes. _You_ can't," she agreed. "But I wouldn't put it past you to _accidentally_ forget to feed him."

Slowly, his lips quirked. "I would never," he said quietly.

Without a word, she turned on her heel and went to leave.

He groaned before she made it to the door, and she heard the bedding shifting as he rose. "Potter is _fine_. Okay? He's still in holding at the Ministry. Aside from a lack of hygiene and a bit of loneliness, I imagine he's still in fine health. You can go see him yourself, if you don't believe me, but I can't imagine he'd very much want to see you at the moment."

She turned around only after she heard the sound of him putting his pants on. "If anything happens to him-"

"You'll _what?_ " he asked, and when she didn't have an answer, he scoffed. "You should be _thanking_ me. He's just as much your problem now as he is mine."

"He's my _friend_."

" _Mhmm_ ," he hummed as he approached her. She went to leave again, but he gripped her hand to stop her. "Look, I know you're still a bit put out with me-"

She scoffed.

"-but I really need you to look past it. Just for today." When she didn't reply, he added, " _please._ "

She almost had to double take at the sound of the word coming from _him._

" _Please_ , accept the nomination."

For the strangest of moments, it felt like their roles from the night before had reversed. As she had been the vulnerable one then… it was his turn, now.

"I…” she shook her head. “You know I don't _want_ -"

"Ah ah," he interrupted with finger on her lips. "Just... take the morning to think on it. Please.”

He slowly lowered his finger. Before she could move, he leaned in and gave her a quick peck on the lips before stepping around her and leaving the bedroom.

He didn't try to speak with her again, after that.

 

* * *

 

Hermione arrived at the Ministry alone later that morning, a week and a day after Kingsley's death, still thoroughly confused over the mess that had become of her life. The energy of the Ministry had noticeably improved, with the first of the proceedings in the election of a new Minister due to begin at ten o'clock sharp. While she couldn't help but share the opinion with many others in the Ministry that it seemed a bit rushed, she understood the necessity of it.

Britain couldn't be left without an acting Minister.

Hermione had never witnessed the process herself, but she knew it was a three-part ordeal. Nominations came first; all members of the Wizengamot and Upper Ministry employees (department heads and the like) were invited to attend. All were eligible to nominate and be nominated. This made the nomination round the messiest part of the electoral process, for the obvious reason of friends nominating friends. Each nomination was required to be seconded for that exact reason, but it hardly deterred staff from nominating those who were unqualified.

The next step was the internal campaign. This step was notoriously short, considering that this vote was entirely up to the Wizengamot. Usually the Wizengamot would already have preferred candidates, so no matter how many candidates were actually nominated, the voting would end up quite simple, usually resulting in only a handful of candidates progressing to the next round. Usually the internal campaign - the time between the nominations and the Wizengamot’s vote - would only last a week.

After this, the external vote was offered to the public. It was hard to predict how long this step would take; historically, it was at its fastest in times of crisis.

She expected this particular election would be a fast one.

While Hermione had dreamed of becoming Minister ever since she learned of the _existence_ of a Minister, she'd never let herself get carried away with it. She'd always reminded herself that her chances of winning a vote, when the Wizengamot could be so easily biased, were almost non-existent.

Never did she think that one day, the Wizengamot would be biased in her _favour._

She arrived down at the dungeon chamber for the nominations a few minutes late, knowing to expect her name and still uncertain of what she was going to do about it. With her tardiness came limited seating options, the chamber being almost completely full upon her arrival. She located a few open places; one next to Arthur Weasley, and another next to Iris. Knowing Arthur probably hated her at the moment and _definitely_ not wanting to sit with Iris, Hermione ended up choosing a spot next to a group of wizards she knew to be from the Department of Magical Games and Sports, knowing they didn't know her well enough to speak with her.

If there was one thing she absolutely did _not_ want, it was to be seated next to someone who wanted to talk.

She hadn't been sitting for long before she noticed Voldemort sitting on the opposite side of the chamber. Euan was seated loyally on his right, and down next to him was Finch. She quickly scanned further along, not wanting to catch his eye and settled back on Arthur and Percy who were sat closer toward the front.

Looking at them, speaking in hushed tones, gave her an odd feeling in the pit of her stomach, somewhere close to regret.

Further left and front row centre, sat Enoch Nettle, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot who had been appointed after Dumbledore's passing. He sat, higher than the others in the podium, with a red, beaded hat which almost resembled a crown.

She watched as he and the two senior members flanking him spoke, until the large doors to the chamber closed with a resonating bang.

It drew the crowd to a silence.

Nettle cleared his throat and sat as straight as he could before he addressed them, his air becoming regal.

"The Wizengamot and Upper Ministry of Magic has gathered here today, to address the matter of the position of Minister for Magic.

"Shortly, I will open the floor to nominations. All members of the Wizengamot and Upper Ministry of Magic are eligible for nomination, and all are eligible to nominate. One cannot nominate themselves. All nominations will require a second supporter to be considered. All nominees will be required to accept or decline their nomination before election can take place.

"I now invite your nominations."

Quickly, before Hermione had the chance to watch for signs of movement, Arthur Weasley stood.

"I nominate Percy Weasley."

"Do we have a second?"

Arthur's workmate Vince stood beside him. "I second the nomination."

"Mr. Weasley," Nettle addressed. You have been nominated by a representative of the Upper Ministry of Magic for the position of Minister for Magic. Do you accept your nomination?"

She didn't fail to notice how Percy seemed to tremble.

"I accept."

At his words, a black cursive print formed onto the parchment hanging below Nettle's stand forming the name, _Percy Ignatius Weasley._

The current Deputy Minister, Claudius Digby, followed by Mahala Barrows and Lucinda Prewett were all nominated in quick succession. The nominators stood rapidly, and Hermione thought it was a good thing Nettle seemed to have better eyes than her, because she couldn't tell who stood first. After them, Iris Paterson nominated Lewis Caldwell, and he in turn nominated her.

Hermione very nearly laughed. The prospect of either one of them becoming Minister was ridiculous and she wondered how they'd managed to convince each other to cooperate.

And then Voldemort stood.

She saw how Percy and Arthur stiffened and she knew why. They expected him to be nominated. They hadn't been expecting him to nominate _someone else_.

"I nominate Hermione Granger."

Each and every set of eyes in the chamber turned to her.

But she didn't notice them.

The only ones she did notice, were Percy and Arthur's. They looked to her in shock. But then she saw the moment they put it together, the moment their looks became clouded with _betrayal._

"Do we have a second?"

For a moment, she doubted whether she would get a second. But then, Clementine Lace, a member of the Wizengamot who she knew of but had never personally spoken to, stood. "I second the nomination."

"Ms. Granger. You have been nominated by a representative of the Wizengamot for the position of Minister for Magic," Nettle said as if she hadn't just been there to witness the nomination. "Do you accept your nomination?"

Her eyes hovered over the audience. She thought on what Draco has said.

_If it's not you, then it'll be someone else in the circle, and if there's one thing we can trust, it's that whoever that may be will be worse than you._

Back toward Nettle, she found Voldemort's eyes locked on her.

He seemed to be holding his breath.

She stood.

"I accept."

And to the parchment, another name was added.

 

* * *

 

Much later that evening, long after the birds outside had retired for the night, Voldemort left Hermione in his bed after getting up to fetch a drink.

She might not have been as good with her Legilimency as he was, but she didn't need to be to know he was lying. It wasn't like him to manually do something he could do with a snap of his fingers, and so she was _positive_ he was lying.

Still, she didn't call him on it. He left the room only wearing his pants, so she knew he couldn't have been planning on doing anything too strenuous, and certainly not anything with _company._

And so, she lay there, sprawled out in his bed, trying not to think too hard about where she was as she tried to enjoy the cool sensation of his sheets on her skin.

He returned after only a few minutes and climbed back onto the bed. He moved across it on his knees and stopped when he reached her, shifting her arm aside so he could lay next to her.

"I bought you this," he said once he was comfortable, pulling out a small box from his pocket.

She hesitated, glancing between him and the box in his hand as he offered it. When she didn't take it, he rolled his eyes and opened the box himself.

Inside, sat a ring.

"I..."

She didn't have words. It was beautiful.

As far as engagement rings went, it was subtle, with a thin, golden band with tiny diamonds flanking the central, oval stone. The stone in the centre was a modest, faceted aquamarine.

Immediately it made her angry. Trust _him_ to choose her something gorgeous, something to her taste that she would've longed for Ron to choose for her.

"You _bought_ this?" She asked skeptically after the initial shock had worn off. "You didn't steal it? You didn't imperius the shopkeeper or blackmail them and force them into giving it to you?"

"I thought about it," he said, the corners of his lips twitching. "But I knew you wouldn't like that."

She snorted in disbelief. "Getting one of your lackeys to buy it for you doesn't count, either."

"I did no such thing. That journalist you hate even saw me in the shop. I expect there'll be quite the article in the Daily Prophet any day now."

She searched him, looking for something, _anything_ , to contradict him and when she could not find it, she asked, simply, "why?"

His lips twitched. "You know why."

"I thought... I don't know. I didn't think..."

"That I meant it?" He finished for her.

"Yes," she admitted, meeting his eyes. "I thought it might've been another of your games. Especially after..."

As Kingsley's name went unspoken, he smiled sadly before he glanced back down to the box.

"Will you wear it?"

She eyed it.

"It hasn't been spelled, if that's what you're thinking," he said knowingly. "It's just a ring."

Gently, she plucked the ring from its foam holder and considered it, turning it in the light and watching how it sparkled.

"I thought you said we'd go to Paris," she said, almost teasingly.

He laughed. "Do you _want_ to go to Paris?"

"...no. No, I can't think of much I'd rather do less, at present."

Hermione glanced up to see him watching her intently before he focused back on the ring in her fingers.

It then dawned on her that the ring might not have only been a peace offering.

She'd accepted his nomination. She'd passed his first test of her trust. But this... this was a test of _forgiveness._ It was the closest to an apology for Kingsley that she would get, and he wanted to know if she could put it behind them.

_He wanted to know if she was loyal._

She slipped it on her finger.

And just like the man smiling before her, it was awful. It was wrong, and it was evil, and it was treacherous.

But most of all, _it was perfect._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man... it took me ages to pluck up the courage to read everything I’ve written thus far (I couldn't update without reading it for the life of me), and damn, I forgot how fucked up it is ahaha I am sorry. I actually feel quite disturbed by my own Voldemort, even though I wrote him.
> 
> I'm not really sure whether to be proud of that or ashamed haha.


	27. Ambush

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's that? Two updates in a week?? That doesn't sound like me...

Harry awoke to the grinding sound of the door to his cell opening.

The adrenaline of being woken so suddenly threw him upward, and when Harry saw not Voldemort, but Euan Penrose at the door, he could almost have kissed him.

"Euan," he greeted in wonder, shooting up from the bed with a relief that was immeasurable washing over him. "Euan, am I glad to see you! I need you to listen to me. This whole thing... it's not what you think. I had to jinx him, I... Jenkins is _not who he says he is_ , he's V-"

" _Silencio_."

Harry's expression hardened as Euan did not lower his wand.

" _Incarcerous._ "

As his arms were bound to his sides by thick, heavy ropes, Harry yelled in protest.

His yells were silent.

With Harry tied, Euan entered the cell, circling behind Harry and prodding him forward with his wand.

"Sorry about this, Potter," he said, sounding not at all remorseful. "But I'm going to need you to cooperate and come with me."

After another few painful prods, Harry, grudgingly, trotted in the direction Euan guided him in silence, hoping that they'd run into someone – _anyone_ – to see his mistreatment on the way through.

But they didn't.

They made it from the cells up to the lifts without encountering a single soul. When the lift chimed for the Atrium, the doors opened up into a wide, deserted space and crossing through it was unnerving. Harry craned his neck to check out the glass-panelled ceiling and found that he could make out the stars.

It was night.

No wonder the Ministry was deserted.

Euan continued to direct him toward onward, and as they neared where Harry knew the apparition point to be, Harry froze.

_He knew where they were going._

He knew where they were going, and Harry would be _damned_ if he would give in without a fight.

Without giving Euan any warning, he shoved back against him and kicked his feet. He yelled, and argued, and screamed out every profanity he had in his arsenal – not that it went heard.

Narrowly avoiding a strong kick from Harry, Euan pressed his wand into his neck, the top starting to burn into Harry's skin. Still, Harry – having grown up with another boy his own age who detested him – had plenty of experience forcing himself out of situations such as these. He shoved at him with his shoulders and kicked out at the other man's shins, and when that didn't work, Harry resorted to spitting.

That seemed to be the final straw for Euan. With a deep scowl, he pointed his wand and threw Harry forward through the doors to the apparition hall, ironically, with a knockback jinx.

Without his arms, it took Harry a moment to get back up on his feet, and when he did, he noticed that the apparition hallway, unlike the rest of the Ministry, was _not_ deserted.

"Mr. Potter," Voldemort greeted with an amused grin, waiting by the end of the hallway patiently, flanked by another six others.

Harry stopped as his blood ran cold. He recognised all six of Voldemort's companions as his Aurors. Like a punch to the stomach, the betrayal set in with a deep ache.

"Do forgive the early hour, but the movement of a detainee as high profile as yourself requires the utmost caution, I'm sure you can understand."

Harry ran his eyes over the other men before he met Voldemort's. Silently, Harry spat, _fuck you._

Voldemort smiled and glanced back to Euan. "I rather like him like this, don't you?" He said as he stepped forward.

The others in the room laughed while Harry backed up. Harry felt his skin tightening and crawling as Voldemort approached, but was stopped in the doorway by Euan.

"Don't worry. I won't bite," Voldemort taunted before he gripped Harry's shoulder and pushed him further into the room. Harry tried to shake him off, but to no avail.

"Apologies, but I have learned, Harry, that if you want something done right, you must do it yourself," Voldemort said tauntingly in his ear as he side stepped away from one of Harry's kicks. "I can't risk them losing you on our way."

He didn't say anything more before Harry was forcibly pulled into side-along apparition.

Harry didn't need to open his eyes to know he'd been correct about their destination. The front bridge of Azkaban was cold and wet and _putrid_ , and the smell combined with the aftermath of the apparition had Harry almost retching. The ocean's waves spilled onto the rocks and the spaces left untouched were drenched with its spray, though it did nothing to wash away the smell.

The front gates of Azkaban lay ahead, lit up with lanterns along the ground level. Their light, along with the moonlight from above, silhouetted the dementors that drifted high up above.

Harry shivered as he watched them.

"Something the matter, Potter?"

Harry almost jumped at Voldemort's sudden voice drawing his attention off of the dementors, so very close to his ear.

Voldemort pushed Harry forward by the shoulder as the others materialised on the rock, one by one.

"Finch," Voldemort addressed, his voice loud behind Harry's shoulder. "Go ahead, would you? They should be expecting us."

Finch did as requested and Voldemort didn't release his grip on Harry. As they waited, Harry tried to pull himself free, which only tightened Voldemort's fingers.

Harry wondered how hard he'd have to throw himself backward to knock Voldemort off the rocks. He'd surely have to do it with enough force that would ensure he followed him down into the ocean, but it'd be worth it, he decided. It was the best option he had.

Before Harry had the chance to put his plan to action, however, he saw Finch close in on the gates. He must've only been a few metres away, but he didn't receive the greeting from the guards Harry expected to see.

Instead, he was _swarmed._

What must've been about ten dark figures closed in on Finch, and immediately, Harry's muscles seized thinking them more dementors. But then, just as he registered the lack of coldness and hopelessness – red flashes of light flew toward Finch.

Finch fell and the figures moved in their direction, and then Harry's muscles seized for a whole different reason.

_They were being ambushed._

Harry hardly had time to consider what that meant before he was shoved down to the ground by Voldemort, seconds before a wide array of colours shot toward them from their attackers.

Harry fell, face first, down onto the slippery rock, his head colliding with the hard stone with a dull _thud._ With only his knees to stop himself from rolling, he came dangerously close to falling onto one of the lower rocks. He scrambled to avoid being trampled by his escort as they charged forward towards the cloaked figures.

Had he not been silenced, Harry's groan still wouldn't have been heard over the ensuing fight breaking out. With his head throbbing from where he'd hit the rock, Harry tried to push himself up, struggling without his hands to help him. But moments later, almost as if someone had heard his silent plea for help, hands gripped Harry's shoulders and forced him to sit up while their owner crouched in front of him.

It was Ron.

Harry blinked. Perhaps he'd hit his head too hard. He might've even been concussed, for him to be hallucinating.

"All right?" The figure that looked like Ron asked before having a go at the ropes around Harry's sides.

Harry was struck by how real, how alike to his memory of Ron he sounded.

Ron scrambled at the ropes for a moment before he pointed his wand and uttered, " _diffindo,_ " and they came free.

With Ron's help, Harry made it up to his feet. He stared at his freed hands and then back at Ron in wonder as he reached out to take his wrist.

Maybe he _wasn't_ hallucinating.

"Come on. Let's get you out of here while we can. Let's hope I don't splinch you."

Harry went to respond, his mouth moving with no sound.

"Oh," said Ron as he realised. "Sorry. _Finite._ "

Harry groaned, comforted by hearing himself again.

"I've never been so glad to see you," Harry said before he glanced back toward the fighting. With the added lights from their duels, he recognised his saviours and was struck with the feeling that his heart would swell out of his chest. There was Bill and Fleur, Luna and Rolf, George and Charlie, and over duelling with Voldemort, McGonagall and Flitwick.

_They'd come for him. They'd all come for him._

"We don't have long. Let's go," Ron said, pulling Harry as he started to turn.

But before he could finish it, Harry, who had a better view of the fighting than Ron did, saw the incoming curse and tackled Ron down to the stone, cutting his apparition short. The curse missed them by mere inches as flew over their heads, and they hurriedly scrambled back to their feet.

Ron turned toward where the curse had come from and yelped at the sight of Voldemort's wand aimed directly at him.

He brought up a shield charm, but it only took one of Voldemort's curses to smash it open. Without his shield, Ron and Harry were left with a clear view of him. His expression was contorted with anger, and it didn't falter as he shot another curse straight toward them.

Ron's reflexes couldn't compare to the speed of the curse. It was too quick; he didn't even have a hope of dodging it, let alone a chance to consider his imminent death. He'd only just seen it coming before it met its mark, colliding with his chest and throwing him off his feet.

" _RON!_ "

Harry bolted to where Ron had flown backward, all thoughts of the fighting going on around him vanishing instantaneously. Finding him flat on his back and not moving, Harry's lungs stopped functioning.

 _No. No, no, no, not Ron, not_ Ron.

But then Ron groaned, and Harry could breathe again.

"My wand," Ron wheezed as he tried to push himself up.

Driven by adrenaline, Harry helped Ron scramble up and started to help search their surroundings for his wand. It was difficult to see in the darkness, but a flash of a flying green curse illuminated the rock enough for him to locate it a few metres away, dangerously close to being washed away by the waves.

Ron pushed himself off the cold, wet rock toward his wand as Harry glanced over to see Voldemort engaged back in his duel with both McGonagall and Flitwick.

The green cascading from his wand told that he was duelling to kill.

_So how was it that he and Ron were still breathing?_

Shaking off the question and keeping himself low, Harry headed back toward Ron, seeing him shooting a few of his stunners towards Voldemort's companions as he went.

"Come on," Ron hurried, reaching out for Harry.

As he reached him, a loud yell could be heard over the fighting,

" _No!_ "

Harry followed it to see McGonagall and Flitwick stumbling backward while Voldemort's wand was on him. In that moment, he knew. Everything had come to this; he was surely about to die, without ever having the chance to see Ginny or his children again.

But then-

_Voldemort hesitated._

Had Harry not seen it with his own eyes, he never would've believed it. But then Ron was pulling him, and he was engulfed by the rough pressure of apparition, and the sights and smell of Azkaban were gone.

 

* * *

 

Back at Shell Cottage, Harry sat huddled on the long couch in front of the fireplace, mug of hot cocoa in hand. Molly had thrusted it in his hand moments after she and Ginny had checked him over for injuries and insisted that he and his saviours all sit while they tended to their wounds.

They'd all managed to get out, but it'd been close. Flitwick was sitting in the dining room with Luna calming him, convinced that had he not apparated when he did, he'd have been dead. Charlie had had a hard time of it, too, and was now sprawled out on the living room floor while he let the dittany do its work on the long gash he'd gotten down his arm.

Beside Harry, Ginny sat with her hand gripping his thigh as if she'd never let him out of her sight again. All were silent as Rolf worked, slowly moving about the room, healing the minor cuts and grazes as he went.

But as the soft sounds of the fire filled the quiet, a lingering thought wouldn't leave Harry alone.

"He had me."

"Sorry?" Ron asked from his armchair.

"He had me," Harry repeated, louder this time for everyone to hear. "Voldemort. He had all the opportunity in the world. He had a clean shot... and he didn't take it."

The entire room had gone quiet.

Ginny was the one to break it. "Maybe he was just... surprised, or-"

"Voldemort wouldn't allow _surprise_ to get to him, duelling is his _element,_ " Harry disagreed, running his hand through his hair. "He had plenty of chances. And at the end, before we left, his wand was on me. He went to cast, but then... he just... _didn't._ "

Ron and Ginny exchanged a long look while Bill leaned closer.

"Why, then?" Asked Bill.

"I... I don't know," Harry admitted. "I didn't have a wand... maybe it's... he said the other day that he didn't want me dead. But I dunno why he didn't do something else. He could've stunned me, or tortured me, or anything else to keep me there..."

" _Oh!_ " Ron sounded, straightening in his armchair and drawing the attention off of Harry. "You're right! He disarmed me, too! Remember?!"

Ginny's brows furrowed. "He _disarmed_ you?"

"Yeah! I thought it was weird too – not that I'm complaining."

"But that doesn't make sense," Ginny said.

"No," Harry agreed. "It doesn't. Years ago, he would've jumped at the opportunity to kill us, and yet... now... I dunno. Something's... something must have changed."

Ginny snorted to herself and mumbled, "yeah, maybe he knows Hermione won't put out if he kills you."

Harry's eyes snapped over to his wife.

She reddened. "Sorry," she uttered.

"No," said Harry, his eyes rounding as the epiphany struck, pointing a finger in her direction. "No... _you're right_."

"I was only joking-"

" _Hermione_ is the difference. Maybe... _what if he's agreed not to hurt us?_ "

The room went silent.

And then Ron laughed. "I'm sorry, but are you suggesting she made a _deal_ with _You-Know-Who?_ "

"Yes. _Yes_ ," said Harry, standing with enthusiasm and putting his mug down. "It's the only thing that can explains it! God, it explains _everything!_ Why he didn't kill us, what Hermione's doing with him... _think about it!_ What if we've thought she's been betraying us, when really... she's been protecting us?!"

"I don't know," Ginny said cautiously. "I mean... what would she have offered in return? If it's like you say and they've made a deal, his end would be not to hurt us. She would have had to offer something more valuable than _you_ to get him to agree to that. I think it's safe to say there wouldn't have been _anything_ more valuable to him than you."

To that, Harry didn't have an immediate answer. But then,

"Loyalty."

All heads in the room snapped up to the doorway to where Arthur stood, the day's copy of the Daily Prophet in hand.

On the front page was a list of nominees for Minister.

"She exchanged her loyalty."

 

* * *

 

Voldemort came for her that morning. He woke her at four-thirty, the only information he gave being, "come with me."

Hermione went to protest, to ask what the bloody hell he wanted that couldn't wait until day broke, but then she noticed his ragged breathing.

After she dressed and met him downstairs, she noticed the tight set of his jaw, the twitching of his fingertips, the agitated way he paced. It all but confirmed her suspicions.

Something had happened.

He took her hand in a tight grip that had her wincing and led her out the back of the house without a word, immediately pulling her into side-along apparition.

They materialised outside of a familiar set of gates – the gates of Malfoy Manor.

She couldn't help herself. Upon seeing the Manor, she asked, "what are we doing here?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he pulled her through the gates and up to the manor at an uncomfortable pace, his grip on her hand once more becoming painfully tight.

He let himself into the Manor, not wasting time with knocking on the door. Seeming to know his way around, he strode through the house with her in tow down a winding corridor on the ground level, until they reached a double set of doors.

With a flick of his wrist, the doors swung open for them, banging at the end of their hinges. He released her in the doorway and strode through the room, over toward the fireplace.

Hermione entered hesitantly, finding that the room was not empty. Rather, the room was very near to full.

His usual table full of Death Eaters were already waiting, scattered around the room. Lucius sat in an armchair over by the bookcase and Travers sat in its pair. Draco sat on a matching loveseat, while Dolohov leaned on a desk by the back wall. McCready stood stoically with his arms folded over his chest and the two others Hermione still hadn't spoken to – Warner and Odelia Macmillan – were hovering over by the bay window.

Quietly, Hermione stepped through the sitting room and lowered herself into the place next to Draco, crossing her ankles and clasping her hands to make herself as small as she could.

Voldemort had immediately begun to pace back and forth after they'd arrived, and as the quiet in the room became uncomfortable, she dared a glance at Draco.

"What's going on?" She whispered to Draco while Voldemort's back was turned.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.

"Potter's escaped," Draco uttered after a moment, the words spoken lowly under his breath for only her to hear.

She couldn't help her small intake of air as her muscles tensed, and it took close to all of her self-control to maintain her neutral expression. The knowledge sat with her uneasily, and she wasn't quite sure whether she was relieved or not.

But she didn't get a chance to mull it over, for at that moment, Voldemort spun on his heel abruptly, turning to face the group.

" _Potter_..." he began, his voice low and tense, "has been freed from Ministry custody."

"I thought _you_ controlled the Ministry... why would you free him?" Travers asked, and the room collectively held their breath.

" _IT WASN'T-_ " Voldemort started in a yell, before breaking off to calm himself with a long sigh. "It wasn't _intentional,_ Travers."

Voldemort's glare lingered before he went back to pacing and the room was, once again, returned to a tense state of quiet.

" _The Order_ was waiting on Azkaban's doorstep," he hissed eventually as he stopped to lean on the mantle of the fireplace. " _Dumbledore's_ _fucking Order_ knew we were coming."

No one dared speak up as the silence became heavy. It weighed down for a long moment before Voldemort turned to Dolohov.

"I thought I told you to find them."

Her eyes widened. "We-we've identified six candidates for where the Order might be staying. Each one is equally well protected... it could be any of them."

Slowly, Voldemort let out a long breath through his nostrils.

" _Find them_ ," he instructed. "Where ever they are, there will be increased activity in the next day or so. Any high amount movement of known family members, or _reporters_... that's where Potter will be."

" _Reporters?_ " Travers asked, and Hermione noticed Lucius wince.

Without any subtlety, Voldemort rolled his eyes. "Potter will want to speak to anyone who will listen," he said in explanation, before turning abruptly. "Warner. McCready. I need you to ensure that _nothing_ makes its way into the Prophet."

"Of Potter's escape, My Lord?" Noel asked in a small voice.

"Nothing with so much as a _suggestion_ of his name is to be published," he answered sharply, starting to pace along the wall. "He will try to talk. Of that, I am sure."

"Why does it matter if he talks?" Travers asked, and Hermione withheld the urge to insist he _be quiet._ "You said yourself, we're nearly ready. What's it matter if the public know we're back?"

"It _matters_ ," Voldemort began with closed eyes in a tone that sounded very much like he was nearing the end of his tether, "because any slander that may be published about _me_ will directly reflect upon the Ministerial campaign."

"But why does that-"

" _Crucio._ "

Voldemort struck so suddenly that many in the room flinched. Travers gagged as the curse hit, the sound turning into full blown screams as he contorted in his chair.

Hermione tried to look away but found herself unable to. Though it wasn't Travers she couldn't look away from.

It was Voldemort.

As he held his curse, his breathing quickened, and his eyes flickered with _hunger._ They lost their focus and he blinked rapidly, almost like it was an effort to keep them open.

But even still, it wasn't him himself that she found so distracting.

It was his magic.

_She could feel it._

Even from where she sat, she could feel the warmth of his curse radiating through the room. His magic filled the air, licking across her skin enticingly as it passed. She could feel it prickling like tiny bursts of electricity, dancing over her nerve endings, pleading her to _have a taste._

"Tom," she breathed as he held it, wanting him to stop, _needing_ him to stop.

She rose to a stand. " _Tom._ "

He ended the curse abruptly, lowering his wand and blinking almost as if he'd forgotten where he was and what he was doing.

Travers slid to the ground, whimpering as he shook.

Voldemort sniffed, turning back to the fireplace as he ran a hand through his hair. After a moment of Travers' whimpering, he turned back and caught Draco's eye and gestured toward Travers with a nod of his head. Not needing to be told twice, Draco shot up and moved over to Travers to help him back up.

"Were there anymore questions? No?" Voldemort addressed the room with acid in his tone. After receiving only the sounds of Traver's whimpering in response, he said, "then get out. Unless you've found Potter, I don't want to hear from any of you."

Those who were standing hurried toward the exit without a look back, quickly followed by those who were sitting.

Hermione followed suit.

" _Not you_ , Granger," Voldemort snapped before glancing to where Draco was struggling to help Travers to his feet. "And Draco, get him a glass of water, for god's sake."

"Y-yes, My Lord," Draco mumbled, slowly pulling Travers in the direction of the doors while Hermione slowly lowered herself back down on the chair.

Once the doors finally fell shut and the two of them were left alone, Voldemort let out a long, tired sigh before he lowered himself into the armchair where Lucius had sat. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and brought his hands to his face, covering his eyes with his palms and pressing down.

Despite herself, as Hermione watched his hunched figure, she felt a wave of sympathy.

She remembered how she'd been the day before. She remembered how she'd been after Aldridge, after the woman at the Goyle house. How she could barely see, how she could barely _think_.

"Hey," she said eventually, her voice soft as she crossed the sitting area to crouch down in front of him. She slowly reached out, lightly brushing her palm on the side of his face as he often did with her. "Are you all right? Is... is it getting to you?"

He closed his eyes and allowed her to caress his skin with her thumb, leaning into her touch ever so slightly.

"I could feel it," she said gently, stroking her fingers into his hairline, "when you cursed Travers, just earlier. I didn't know the magic could be perceivable like that. I can only imagine how it must've felt for you... how it feels, rather."

He hummed, slowly opening his eyes. Now that she was closer, she could make out how the whites of his eyes were tinged with red, how his eyelids were slightly thicker than usual, how he seemed to have a bit of trouble focusing properly.

She thought of how he normally helped her through it.

"Tell me..." she started, meeting his eyes, "what am I thinking?"

Something like a smile formed on his lips.

"I'm fine."

" _Tell me_ ," she insisted. "What am I thinking?"

"I don't need your help."

She nudged his leg with her elbow, her insistent expression unwavering.

After a soft, resigned sigh, he met her eyes properly.

She felt it the moment he touched upon her mind, though his presence was gentle and very nearly imperceivable. She kept a memory at the forefront of her mind and was grateful when she didn't feel him pushing, knowing all too well that if he tried to find another, she wouldn't have been able to stop him.

The memory was back from the first time he'd visited her flat, back when he'd just been _Ben._ Back when she hadn't associated him with torture, and murder and ruining her childhood, back when seeing him had given her warm butterflies and nothing more. She wasn't sure why she'd chosen that particular memory, other than for the simple reason that it was one she frequented, one that she cherished.

She didn't consider it might've been a subconscious choice, choosing a memory that often soothed her.

After it replayed, he exited gently, to the point where she didn't notice he'd left her mind until he spoke.

"What was it like?" His voice was still low as before, but without the strain it'd held previously.

It took her a moment to register what he'd said. "What was what like?"

"Loving me," he answered after a pause, almost so quietly she couldn't hear it.

"It was... it was like breathing," she said honestly, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw absentmindedly. "It was one of the easiest things I've ever done. But it's..." she stopped to shake her head. "It's different now. I don't know what it is, that it turned into. I'm not sure if I could tell you, even if I wanted to."

Subtly, he nodded, reaching up to her hand and taking it in his. He brought their hands down in front of him and ran his fingers across her skin, stopping at the ring on her finger.

"You're wearing it," he observed.

"You asked me to," she said with a shrug as she followed his gaze to their hands.

He let out a breath of the beginnings of a laugh. "You say that as if you often do what I ask of you."

"I do sometimes," she said with a somewhat sheepish smile. "Besides, it's not a partnership if one leads and the other follows blindly."

"A partnership..." he repeated lowly, a question in his voice.

She looked back up from their entwined hands to see him smiling at her.

It was his best smile; the smile he gave her when he teased her, the smile he gave her on the rare occasion that he wasn't scheming, the smile he gave her that brought butterflies along with it.

It felt... like an honest one. Like one that escaped without him intending on it, and it made the moment feel _real._ Like one of the realest moments she'd had with him, and with the soft crackling of the fireplace, it was almost a little bit _nice._ She even thought he might've been about to kiss her, but just as he moved toward her, the doors swung open.

"Oh," Draco sounded from the doorway, drawing their attention. His eyes were wide as he glanced between them and Hermione immediately yanked her hand out of Voldemort's, averting her eyes to her lap. "I'm sorry- I didn't mean to- I'll just-"

"What do you want?" Voldemort asked without moving an inch before Draco could leave.

"I... it's just... a letter's just arrived," he said, waving a wad of parchment in his hand. "It's addressed... it's addressed to Granger."

Her head snapped up.

"A letter? For _me?_ " She questioned, eying the parchment suspiciously as she rose to her feet.

"Here," Draco said, offering her the thick envelope.

She took it and quickly frowned, not recognising the handwriting. The letter was heavy, and it was only after she squeezed over it in the way that a child would to a wrapped gift, that she realised it wasn't _just_ a letter.

"Something's in here," she observed aloud before slipping her finger under the flap of the envelope and ripping it open.

"Hermione-" Voldemort warned cautiously from behind her, but it was too late. She'd already tilted the parchment and the contents of the letter had already slid into her waiting palm.

Her eyebrows lifted. Among the parchment, had been a galleon. A single golden galleon.

"What?" Draco questioned as she flipped it over.

Hermione was slow in realising what it was, but when she did, her mouth popped open involuntarily.

It wasn't _just_ a normal galleon – it was one of the very galleons she'd charmed in fifth year for communicating DA meetings.

And this one, the one in her hand, was set to that day's date.

The moment she realised this, a hook, long and wide caught itself around her navel. At the tell-tale feeling, she looked up and met Voldemort's eyes.

He realised what was happening at the same moment she did. "No-"

He reached out for her, but before he could make contact, the hook dragged her in, and with a _pop_ , she was gone.

The room fell into a loud silence, both men staring into the space where Hermione had vanished. Ever so slowly, Voldemort turned his head and his accusatory glare reached Draco.

Draco blanched, shaking his head. "I... I didn't know... I should've... I-I'm sorry, I-"

Voldemort stepped closer, invading Draco's personal space with his taller form. Draco's shoulders tensed as he shied away, his retreat only stopped by the wall behind him. He drew his neck as close to his body as he could, his jaw quivering as he anticipated the worst.

When Voldemort spoke, it was only a whisper.

And yet it might've been the most deadly tone Draco had ever heard.

" _Find them_."


	28. Shell Cottage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry. Please accept this slightly longer chapter as a form of apology. I wanted to update this much sooner, but I just got stuck. Like, good and proper stuck. I just disliked writing this chapter. Juggling so many characters at once is hard work. But, I'm so very excited for the next chapter that I forced myself through this one so that I could write that one ahahah
> 
> Anyway, yeah, as usual, I hope you like it!

_Pop._

All heads in the living room turned toward the hollow sound coming from the kitchen, and for a moment, no one moved.

But the next instant, Harry and Ron were jumping to their feet and running toward where the sound had come, Ginny, Luna, and Rolf not far behind.

They found the kitchen to be its usual self. Dishes slowly scrubbed themselves over by the sink, and the large clock over the bench was ticking away at its usual volume. Nothing was out of place.

Nothing, except for the woman standing in the centre of the room.

"... _Hermione?_ "

She jumped as she spun toward their voices. Her eyes rounded with something close to surprise as she took them in before her expression softened to one of confusion. "Harry?" She asked timidly. " _Ron?_ "

"I can't believe it actually worked!" Harry exclaimed, wasting no time in rushing forward and sweeping her up into a hug. Without paying any mind to her squeak of protest, he lifted her smaller frame from the ground and spun her in a quick circle.

"We figured it out," he gushed when her feet were returned to the ground. "It took us long enough without you-"

"-just like second year all over again," Ron interjected from behind Harry's shoulder.

"-but we did it."

They grinned at her as she took in her surroundings, though, still a bit thrown off by both the portkey and Harry's spin, Hermione struggled to recognise where she was. What she _did_ recognise, however, was the way Harry and Ron were grinning at her.

Even though both men looked worse for wear, they both grinned in the same way they'd grin coming to see her after winning a Quidditch match, the same way they'd grin after coming back from a successful day at the Auror office. Their grins were proud, yet almost sheepish. They were the ones reserved only for when they'd thought they'd outdone themselves.

They had a striking resemblance to those they'd given her after they'd come back to their tent after managing to destroy Slytherin's locket.

She suddenly felt rather uncomfortable.

"Figured... figured it out?" She questioned, squinting as she searched the kitchen again. "Where _are_ we?"

"Shell Cottage," Ron answered. "The place would've changed a fair bit since the last time you came by, now that so many of the Order are staying here," he gestured back to Ginny, Luna, and Rolf.

"Oh," Hermione sounded softly, a sinking feeling making itself known in the pit of her stomach. "That's... oh, no. No, no, no..."

"You made a deal, didn't you?" Harry went on, not paying mind to her soft murmuring. "With Voldemort? Or a vow, or something. That's gotta be it, right? That's why he couldn't hurt us at Azkaban?"

Harry's words stole the little amount of air that was left in her lungs, interrupting her growing sense of dread.

Not only had they brought her to the Order's _headquarters_ , but they knew about her vow. Merlin, _they knew._

The moment she'd dreamed of was finally upon her. She was back with her friends. With their knowledge, she could _talk_ to them, at last. How long had she waited for this? How many hours had she spent dreaming about this? How many times had she thought about this moment, playing out countless scenarios of how it would go?

She'd wanted this.

She'd been _craving_ this.

...but then why did she feel like she was about to vomit?

She glanced away from Harry down toward her wrist where the burn of the vow usually would sink in at the mere thought of breaking it.

This time, the vow didn't burn, didn't even tingle. She didn't feel anything.

And so, with a spark of something that almost could've been sadness, she nodded.

"I knew it! _I knew it! I told you!_ " Harry all but yelled, turning toward the others.

"Yes, yes, thank you," Ginny remarked dryly, gently pulling her husband back from Hermione and taking his place. "Give her some air. You yelling in her face is the last thing she needs right now. Come and sit," she said, directing Hermione toward the dining table. "I'll get you some tea."

After a swish of Ginny's wand, a wide mug came soaring out of one of the kitchen cabinets, landing over on the bench next to the short teapot.

Hermione slowly moved in the direction Ginny had ushered her in and lowered herself into one of the chairs, noting the length of the table and the number of chairs crammed in around it. If it'd been extended to cater for the current number of residents, then there must've been close to twenty currently staying in the cottage.

"Are... are you all right? You're not hurt or anything, are you?" Harry asked in a gentler tone as he pulled out the chair at the table's end for himself, while Ron took the spot opposite her.

"No. No, I'm fine," Hermione muttered and nervously clasped her hands in her lap. The pressure of her grip drove the stones of her ring into her middle finger and she was sharply reminded of its presence. With high hopes that none of the others had noticed it on her finger, she kept her hands underneath the table and swapped the ring over to her index finger.

"We weren't sure that our letter was going to reach you," Harry went on, not noticing her movement, "depending on where you were. We didn't put an address down, but clearly Pigwidgeon managed. Ginny was worried you'd be asleep, but..."

Hermione released the strong bite she had on her bottom lip. "Oh. No, I wasn't, I... actually... I was at the Malfoy's."

Ron seemed to have a bit of trouble as he choked on nothing.

"The _Malfoy's?_ "

"It's... it's a long story, I suppose," she muttered, her nerves becoming detectable in her voice. "But listen, Harry... I can't be here. You shouldn't have sent the portkey... I need to go, I need to-"

"What? No, you can't-you can't leave! Why would you leave?"

"Merlin," she breathed, running her hands through her hair as she thought of _him_ , of the moment Draco had interrupted, of how she'd been so abruptly torn away.

_He'd be furious._

" _Merlin_ , Harry, he's going to come looking for me."

"He won't find you. You're safe here."

She shook her head. "I'm not worried about _me_ , I... they know where the Order safehouses are, and my being here will only put a bigger target on you-"

" _Hey,_ " Harry interrupted, reaching out across the table to grip her hand. "We've always had a target on us. With or without you, there's a _monumental_ target on us, and we'd all prefer it if we were _together_."

"Y-you said they know?" Ron asked, glancing between them as his complexion paled. "About the safehouses?"

" _Yes_ ," Hermione insisted, glad that at least one of them was listening to her. "He's got one of his Death Eaters – _Dolohov_ – and who knows who else watching. They're waiting for any sign of movement to determine which one you- I mean, _we_ are in."

"Then we won't move," Luna said decidedly, to which, Ron nodded.

"That's not-" Hermione broke off, struggling to sit still. "That's not going to keep him! They'll start breaking through into them, one by one until they find us!"

"Our wards are strong," Harry said determinedly. "Flitwick and McGonagall put them up themselves-"

"You saw what happened at Hogwarts all those years ago! He may not have the army he had then, but the wards will only serve to delay him."

"We'll... we'll arrange for somewhere to move to, then. We'll make a new safehouse."

She nodded.

"Here," Ginny said, interrupting them as she leaned across the table to pass the steaming mug in her hand to Hermione.

"Thank you," Hermione murmured, pulling her mug close. The warmth it spread to her fingertips was soothing. "You should start as soon as possible. Now, even, if you can."

"We'll get on it, don't worry," Harry said gently. "As soon as McGonagall and Flitwick are back."

"Can you _call_ them back? We'll need to hurry. I'm sure we won't have long – _hours_ , probably. I doubt we'd have days."

"Hold on, hold on," Ron interrupted, splaying his hands on the table. "Before we get carried away... I get that You-Know-Who'd be eager to find us, y'know, on account of wanting us dead and all. But what I don't get is... what's he want with you? Why would you being here make him more urgent to find us? Are you... has he been keeping you prisoner or something?"

The desire to vomit reached a new high as all of the eyes in the room turned to her. The pressure riding on whatever answer she chose to give threatened to press the air from her lungs.

But really, what was she meant to say? _He's been teaching me the dark arts_ wouldn't do, nor would _we've been fucking_. She was sure that _he's convinced himself he needs me_ wouldn't help the situation, nor would _I've agreed to marry him._

She cleared her throat. "I... I mean... he was there when the portkey reached me, and, honestly, who else would send me a portkey? He'll know it was the Order, and he's just lost Harry," she blurted, deciding it was best not to tell the whole truth. "He was incensed enough as it was, but now... you've gone and stolen me, right out from under his nose, too..."

But it didn't shake Ron. "Wait, you were _with_ You-Know-Who? After we freed Harry, you were - _what?_ "

Mercifully, she was saved from answering by the door swinging open.

"What are you all doing still up? I thought you were all heading off to bed an hour ago- _oh_ ," Arthur broke off as his eyes landed on Hermione. "Hermione."

She shifted uncomfortably at his abruptly cool tone. "Arthur."

Before he could say anything else, the door behind him burst open for the second time, and a short red-haired witch burst in. " _Goodness!_ What are you all doing still up? Harry needs his- _oh_ ," said Molly. "Hermione?"

"Hi Molly," she greeted sheepishly.

"Oh. _Oh my_ , two of you back in one night, w- _why didn't you say anything Ronald?!_ We'll need to extend the table again, and _oh,_ we'll be due for groceries again, I expect. Have you seen Fleur yet? Tacking on another bedroom will be tough work, but I think we can do it, up by the east block, over the study? Yes. _Yes,_ that's what we'll do, but _oh._ Hermione, dear, can I get you anything? You look..."

"That's okay, Mrs. Weasley, thank you. I'm fine with tea for now." Hermione raised her mug.

"Oh, but that's nothing dear," she said, shuffling over toward the kitchen benches. "I'll fix you up some toast, and maybe some eggs, too..."

"Could I have a word, Harry? Ron?" Arthur asked over the top of his wife's ramblings, nodding back out toward the living room.

"Erm- yeah," Ron said after a glance to Hermione. "Yeah, that should be okay...?"

"It's fine," Hermione said, recognising Ron's question. "I'll be fine with Ginny and Luna."

Arthur left the room quickly, and Harry followed behind, squeezing Ginny's shoulder on the way past. Ron took his time in following, giving Hermione a lingering smile that made her fear the conversations they were surely due to have before he finally ducked out.

She released a breath before she took a long sip of her tea. It was only once she put her mug down that she realised Luna was staring, her brows drawn together in a soft frown.

"You seem to be somewhere else," Luna said eventually.

"Oh," Hermione sounded, glancing back down to her tea. "I'm sorry. It's been a long night- morning, rather."

Luna's lips turned upward. "As long as it's nicer there, where you are."

From behind Hermione, Ginny cleared her throat loudly.

"It was Harry's idea, sending the portkey," Ginny said, addressing the room as a whole and successfully drawing Hermione's attention from Luna. "Escaped You-Know-Who only an hour beforehand, and already he was onto the next rescue."

"Oh, he never stops, that man of yours," Molly agreed.

Hermione managed a small smile. "A brilliant idea, really."

"Yeah, we thought so. It was one of his better ones. At first, he suggested storming in and looking for you ourselves, which was obviously _mad_ , but then-"

"-even know if she's with us!" Arthur's voice became audible as he raised it, effectively silencing Ginny.

They all turned toward the closed kitchen door.

The next raised voice was distinctively Harry's. "We couldn't just leave her there! She's family! Who knows what he's done to her!"

There was a pause. "Her being here is a danger to us all."

"What else would you have us do? She's been at the centre of this, protecting us this whole time, and that's more than most of us can-"

"Don't pay them any mind," Ginny said firmly, taking a seat next to Hermione. "Dad'll come around, he just needs some time. I've never seen him so stressed with work, he's putting in such long hours."

"It's okay," Hermione said, though her weak delivery was hardly convincing. "I understand."

"He and Percy have become our main source of Ministry information, you see," Ginny went on, "so there's a lot on his shoulders. Without Dad and Vince, we'd never have known when they were going to move Harry. And now, with the elections coming up, they're both putting in more and more..."

Hermione's grip on her mug tightened. "I'm sorry."

"You've nothing to be sorry for," Ginny insisted, reaching out to rest her hand on her wrist. "We know what V- what _he_ can be like."

At that, Hermione wanted to yell. She wanted to scream that none of them had so much as an inkling of an idea of what he was like, for if they did, they'd be moving on to a new safehouse there and then, no discussion.

But she didn't.

Instead she nodded and sipped her tea. She accepted the toast from Molly with what was a passable warm smile and accepted the sympathetic comments. She smiled when it was required of her, and finished her tea much too fast, because if she was drinking, it meant she wasn't talking. And after what felt like an eternity later, when Ginny suggested that she come upstairs and try to get in a bit of sleep while the men were distracted, she all but jumped at the opportunity.

Anything to be alone. Anything to avoid their questions.

"We'll fit you up in the spare room for now," Ginny said minutes later, as she guided Hermione up the stairs. "We had McGonagall in there while they were setting up the wards, but she's back at Hogwarts now, so I don't think she'll mind."

She led her down a slightly wonky hall that Hermione didn't remember the cottage having down to the last door on the left. The wood protested with a loud groan as Ginny opened it and held it open, gesturing for Hermione to enter.

Once Hermione was inside, Ginny, still in the doorway, glanced down the hall to make sure they were alone before she tucked her hands into her pockets and pulled out two sealed vials with rounded bottoms.

"Here," Ginny murmured as she offered Hermione the vials. "I know you probably don't want to hear it, but, to this day, I still remember what it was like. After second year with that diary - _his_ diary - I had trouble sleeping for months. Sometimes I still have nightmares, and Harry has them more often than not. I can't even begin to imagine..."

Eager for Ginny's sympathy to stop, Hermione took the vials quickly, recognising the purple as a calming draught and the orange as a dreamless sleep potion.

"I don't know..." she said after reading their labels, offering them back to Ginny. "I shouldn't sleep for too long, not if we need to move..."

"You sound just like Harry. If we need to move, we'll wake you. I promise," Ginny insisted. "Take them. You need your rest."

Seeing that she wasn't going to be winning this one, Hermione sighed. "All right. Thank you."

"Don't mention it." Ginny smiled warmly for a moment, but then added, "seriously though, don't mention it. They're Fleur's. Mum'd have a fit if she found out I took them."

With the first genuine smile she'd had all morning, Hermione laughed. "I won't."

Ginny returned her smile. "Have a good sleep."

The door closed with another loud groan, and then Hermione was alone.

She immediately brought her hands to her face and rubbed at the corners of her eyes.

_Fuck._

There wasn't a way to talk her way out. As soon as Ron had started questioning, she'd known as much. It was a miracle she'd lasted this long without alienating herself.

Arthur was right. She was a danger to them all, and they didn't even know if she was with them. Gods, if _she_ didn't know what side she was on, how on earth could they?

_Fucking fuck._

What was she meant to tell them? How _much_ was she meant to tell them? She'd thought they'd hate her. They _should_ have hated her, it'd be so much easier if they would just hate her.

Just like the door, she let out a long groan that she'd been withholding for the last hour. She then slipped her shoes off and climbed into the bed fully clothed, the two potion vials in her hands.

She glanced down at them.

She shouldn't take them. Sleeping draughts were notoriously unpredictable for the time they would knock out the drinker, and while calming draughts were helpful, she knew she'd need her wits about her should any of Voldemort's Death Eaters show up.

Still... downing them and having a few hours of peace was awfully tempting, and if she was asleep, then she wouldn't have any questions to answer.

_Oh, what the hell. She was fucked as it was._

Hermione popped the corks out of both vials before she downed the potions in two consecutive gulps. She tossed the empty glasses over onto the bedside table before she sunk her head into the pillows and waited for the welcome dark abyss of sleep to take her.

 

* * *

 

Hermione woke in the same overly soft bed, though it took her a full minute to remember where she was.

Her limbs, just like her eyelids, felt heavy, as if she hadn't moved them in a very long time.

She took her time in sitting herself up, still fully clothed and in the room she hadn't taken the time to search the night before. It was quaint; floral bedding that matched the open curtains, the sunlight from outside pouring in through the large window and shining patterns onto the plush carpet.

The muscles of her legs protested as she got out of the bed, aching dully as if she'd spent the day before exercising. She could feel the early beginnings of her withdrawals in her fingertips, in the slight movement in her vision, in the pit of her stomach. Mentally, she cursed herself. They must've been getting worse. Usually, she'd last a few days before the spinning set in.

She wobbled slightly on her way over to the window as her muscles warmed. From the upper storey of the cottage, she had a clear view off the cliff face down to the rolling waves of the sea that reminded her of where she was and who she was with.

The ocean was unsettled.

The sun beaming down from directly overhead told her it must've been around noon. The knowledge didn't help her agitation - the potions must've put her out for _hours._

With shaky fingers, she smoothed her hands over her hair and checked her appearance briefly in the framed mirror by the door. The bags under her eyes were prominent, but she hardly had the energy to do anything about them.

She wiped the smudged mascara in the corners of her eyes away before she shoved the loud door open and made her way toward the stairs. The cottage was a creaky one; the hallway groaned under her weight and the stairs creaked with each step, even though her footsteps were light.

Once at the bottom of the stairs, she headed through to hall toward the living room, finding Ginny standing by the door nervously, Lily in her arms. At Hermione's movement, she tore her attention from the closed living room door.

"Good morning," Ginny greeted with an odd tone of surprise. "Or, afternoon, rather."

Hermione forced her lips to tighten into something that resembled a smile.

"Are you feeling any better?" Ginny hesitantly stepped forward. "You slept like a log, not even Lily's screeching woke you."

"Um, yeah, loads better," she said too quickly. "How long was I out for?"

"Um." With her free hand, Ginny scratched behind her head. "Twenty-nine hours."

" _What?!"_

"I'm sorry! But you must've been so tired!" Ginny said defensively, adjusting how she was holding Lily. "We tried to wake you after twelve, and then again in the morning, but you just wouldn't. I thought I might've overdone it on the sleeping draught, but your vitals were good, so we thought you just needed it. I'm sorry..."

Slowly, Hermione shook her head. At least that explained her nausea. "No. No, that's all right."

"The others are spread around the place, Harry and Ron are in there with Dad," she gestured at the living room door with a nod of her head. "I told them to give you some space, but you know them, I'm sure they're just bursting at the seams..."

That brought a more sincere smile to her face. "Yes, I'm sure they are."

The shrill sound of an infant crying from the dining room echoed down the hall, washing out Hermione's words.

"For the love of-" Ginny broke off, her features becoming apologetic. "I'm sorry. Feel free to head on in. I'm sure James just has something in his nose again..."

Ginny disappeared through the swinging door to the kitchen and Hermione slowly edged over toward the living room. As she approached, she made out hushed voices from within. One of them wasn't so hushed - it was very clearly Harry - but she struggled to recognise the others.

Swallowing the sizeable lump in her throat, Hermione figured it was best to get it over with and pulled the door open.

The living room was fuller that she'd expected. By the fireplace, Ron was pacing, while Bill and Arthur were seated on the long couch across from him. By the bookcase, Harry was in a tight conversation with McGonagall. At the sound of the door opening, all turned toward her.

"You're up," Harry said, the cheer in his voice sounding a little forced. He hurriedly stepped away from McGonagall to approach her, giving her a once-over on the way. "We were starting to worry you wouldn't wake at all. How are you feeling?"

"Better. I, uh, guess I needed it," she said, glancing back to the others and smiling tightly toward Bill and McGonagall.

"D-d'you want to sit?" Harry asked, gesturing to the armchair behind him. "Now that you're up, I think we had some things-" he glanced at Arthur and then across to Ron, "-we still wanted to discuss."

Grateful for the opportunity to get off of her still-wobbly legs, Hermione nodded. She lowered herself into the chair he'd gestured to and brought her hands together to stop their shaking, twisting her ring around her index finger absentmindedly.

Harry took a seat beside Arthur while Bill stood. She was enormously grateful as he headed out in the direction from which she'd come, McGonagall close behind.

_Merlin forbid she had this conversation in front of her_ teacher.

Once the four of them were alone, Hermione took a deep breath. "Arthur was right," she said, directing her words at Harry without giving anyone else the chance to start before she could get it out. "I've been here too long already. My being here is a danger, and I need to go. For all of your sake."

"I know how you're feeling," Harry said. "Trust me, I know better than anyone, but it's not that simple. We should stick together. We're strongest _together_ , we always have been-"

"It's different this time, Harry. This isn't eight years ago. If I leave, I'm in no more danger than I am here. But if I stay, it's putting you all at risk."

Harry let out a stubborn sigh as he glanced over to Ron by the fireplace almost pleadingly. "Even if we did agree that it was for the best... Hermione, we can't _let_ you go," Harry said cautiously.

She glanced between him and Arthur, and then back toward Ron.

"Y-you can't _let_ me?"

"You have to understand; you know where we are. You know how many of us are here. You know more names of those in the Order today than you did yesterday."

Her stomach fell at the implication of his words. "You think if I leave, I'd betray you."

It was warranted. She wouldn't have trusted herself if she were in their position.

But it still stung.

Arthur's features didn't flinch, but Harry's did. "No. _No,_ we _don't._ We just... we need to be as cautious as possible. If he gets in your head, he can take the information from you, whether you wanted to give it or not," he said gently. "We can't risk that."

"Nor do we know the details of the vow you've agreed to," Arthur interjected. "For all we know, you've agreed to convey information."

She straightened as she turned to Arthur, affronted. "You think I would've agreed to be his _spy?!_ "

"No-" Harry tried, but was quickly spoken over the top of.

"At this point, we don't know what to think. You've had a close association with You-Know-Who for months. You were nominated for the position of _Minister_ , by _him himself._ That suggests a certain level of trust, don't you think?"

"But - _as I've already pointed out_ \- I'm sure there's a reason for that," Harry mediated before glancing back to Hermione. " _Right?_ "

"He..." she started, but with the attention on her, the words had trouble coming out. Her grip tightened on her ring as she twisted it, the metal digging into her skin almost painfully. "He thinks that as the Minister, he can _use_ me and where I stand with the public to further his own cause. But it's... it's deluded; I would never do anything to betray you. I _haven't_ done anything to betray you."

Arthur made a sound that was very close to a scoff. "You'll understand if we have a hard time of believing you."

"I think... I think what Mr. Weasley means to say, is, can you tell us what you agreed to?" Harry asked, ever the diplomat. "Can you tell us what your vow entailed?"

She glanced between them before her eyes landed on Ron, who had taken up a spot perched on the armrest of the couch and was staring back pleadingly.

Slowly, she nodded. "He agreed not to harm my parents. He agreed not to cause physical harm to me, or to any of you."

"And what was your side of the bargain?" Arthur pressed.

She blinked. "He didn't ask for anything."

"Nothing," Harry stated blankly. "He asked for _nothing?_ "

"Well... I had to agree not to reveal to anyone what I knew about him or the vow, and not to cause him physical harm, but... that was it."

"Does that mean that the vow is broken now?" Arthur asked.

"No... it's... it's unbreakable. But, seeing that I'm still breathing, I think it's safe to say we're in the middle of a loophole. Because you already know who he is, and that I'm under a vow, _technically_ , I'm not revealing anything new," she reasoned. "Just as I don't think I could speak of what I might've known before the vow was made, only new information I've gained since."

Harry slowly nodded.

"I have another question, if you can. You were at the Goyle house," Harry stated, spacing his words carefully. "I understand why you lied about it at the time, but... why were you at the Goyle house?"

Hermione shifted uncomfortably. "After we made the vow... I couldn't just sit by and do nothing. I couldn't just _stand by_ while you all started to hate me without at least _trying_ to do something. And so... while I was stuck with him, I worked very hard at building his trust. He did the same thing with me in return, I think. Because of the vow, he was guaranteed someone who wouldn't speak, and I think he liked that. Not even his own Death Eaters are bound by such a high vow. He thought he would have a safe follower in me. After a while, I managed to worm my way into his business. I don't know whether he _actually_ ever trusted me... but I think he did.

"Eventually, he started bringing me along to his meetings. We were at one, when the Order found the Goyle House," she said. "But I _swear_ to you, I spent the _entire_ time hoping that I'd be able to find something useful, something that allowed me to help you. I _always_ wanted to help you."

Harry scoffed, expression thoughtful. " _Arrogant_ son of a bitch..."

Arthur, however, did not appear to be convinced.

"If you were truly working for us, he would've known you were lying about your loyalty," he said stiffly. "That is, if you _were_ , in fact, lying."

Hermione exhaled slowly. "Yes. He would've... or, to put it more accurately, _he does_. I'm not going to pretend that he hasn't worked it out," she said, her voice becoming stiff to match his. "But he is stubborn, and as Harry said, arrogant. He didn't think I'd manage to work around the vow, at least, not as soon as this. He thought that by the time this happened, he'd have me onside. He thought that by the time this happened, I would choose him over you.

"But I _don't_ ," she insisted, squeezing her hand in a fist so tightly that the ring dug into her skin. "I don't choose him. He was wrong."

She released her fist and rested her hands on her thighs. Her fingers shook.

"A-are you okay?" Harry asked gently, glancing down to her fingers.

She pulled them back and tucked them underneath her legs. "I'm fine," she said quickly. "Just nervous."

"You've nothing to be nervous about," he said reassuringly. "You're completely safe here. Nothing will-"

Harry's words were interrupted as a chilling scream carried through the house.

The sound immediately threw Harry, Ron, Arthur and Hermione to their feet. With the longest legs, Ron led the way toward the kitchen to where the scream had originated.

" _What's going on?!_ " Ron urged upon reaching his mother. The question was repeated by Bill who'd stormed in from the other direction, McGonagall following behind.

But Molly didn't look at any of them.

Her features ashen, Molly's eyes were focused out the window, locked on something in the distance toward the cliff face. She raised a hand to point a finger, and as she inhaled shakily, the others followed her gaze.

There, moving along the fence line outside of the house, was a man.

He was alone. He had a wand in one hand, his other raised as if he were feeling the wards surrounding the property.

Hermione didn't need to be anywhere near him to recognise him. She'd recognise his proportions, his posture from a mile away.

Her stomach twisted.

Voldemort was outside.

"That's... that's impossible," Harry dared to murmur, his body frozen in place.

"Harry..." Hermione breathed, remaining just as still as the rest of them. "Harry... the wards. We'd know if they were broken. Look what he's doing with his wand - he's feeling them out. I don't think he's broken them."

He didn't appear to be casting, but with the way his hand was moving, it was as if he were stroking the wards, probing them.

_Testing them._

"I don't think he can see in, but they won't hold him for long. We need to get everyone out, while we can," Hermione said, being the first one to move as she stepped back from the window.

"Yeah," Ron agreed. "Bill and I will get everyone down from upstairs, you round up everyone down here."

The pair nodded to each other and went to spring to action-

" _Wait,_ " Harry said, bringing Ron and Hermione to a halt. "Here me out, here... but I think we should stay."

" _Stay?!_ " Molly squawked at the same time Ron said, " _are you mental?!_ "

"We've established he can't hurt us," Harry said, his voice slowly becoming excited. "He's on his own, while there are a good twelve of us. If we go out now and bring the wards down... _we can take him_. We can end this right here, right now, if we stay and fight."

"Harry," Hermione began, gripping his wrist. "Just because he's on his own doesn't mean he will remain that way."

"We'll never get another opportunity like this!" Hardy insisted, shaking her off. "We've got _three_ trained Aurors. We have two who have fought in not one but _two_ wars! We have three Hogwarts professors, we have the better half of the DA! We can take whoever else may be on their way!"

"But... but... what if that's what he wants you to think?" Hermione squeaked in protest. "What if he just wants to draw us out?"

Harry exhaled. "Look. I know you're scared to face him again. I am too - we all are," he said. "But we've _got_ to do this."

She opened her mouth to plead, to _beg_ him to change his mind, but then,

"All right," Ron said, straightening.

"Let's do it," said Bill. Beside him, McGonagall stiffly nodded, "Filius and I can remove the wards in minutes."

"I'll stay with Ginny and the children," Molly said, nodding at her husband. "We can ward the attic."

All eyes turned to Hermione.

"Are you with us?" Harry asked.

Hermione glanced back out of the window toward Voldemort and for a moment, she struggled to breathe.

_He'd come for her._

_He'd really, truly come for her._

With all of her might, Hermione squashed the treacherous feelings that thought gave her.

"I'm with you."

 

* * *

 

While the Order lined themselves up facing where Voldemort was still pacing, Hermione remained back by the house under a disillusionment charm. Harry has insisted that she not take part in the fray; with her vow in place, it wasn't as if she could help on the offensive side of things, and he'd insisted that it would be too dangerous if Voldemort were to see her. With the wards down, there wouldn't be anything stopping him from simply grabbing her and apparating away.

It was frustrating, but it was logical, and so, she'd grudgingly agreed. Besides, it wasn't as if she had to be completely useless. With her remaining unseen, she could help if anyone were to be wounded.

She had a clear view from where she crouched behind the hedges lining the front path of the cottage. Fighting her instincts, she kept her eyes focused on Harry, not allowing herself to watch Voldemort.

"All right," Harry called with a stiff nod, his voice carrying clearly across the open grass. "Take them down."

With a stiff nod, McGonagall and Flitwick approached the border of the wards on the far side away from Voldemort.

And then they set to work.

Voldemort stepped back from the ward line the moment they began casting as if he could feel their work and for the briefest of moments, confusion flashed across his features. But then, the wards started to rear back, slowly coming undone visibly as if being peeled back by an unseen force. Slowly, as the cottage and its group of inhabitants slowly became visible, Voldemort's eyes lit up and his lips spread in a wide smile.

"Potter," he greeted loudly, his voice carrying across the open space with ease as his eyes steadily drifted across the line up of the order. One by one, his eyes passed them, scanning, searching. "Quite the welcoming party you've got there. Is this all for me? I’m flattered.”

Harry raised his wand, the others flanking him following suit. "Come quietly and we might not kill you," he instructed.

For a moment, the sound of the rolling waves below the cliff was all that could be heard. Then it was broken as Voldemort laughed a short, high laugh.

"I believe you took something that belongs to me," he said, ignoring Harry’s threat, his voice carrying none of the amusement his laugh would've suggested. "I want her back."

As Voldemort's eyes passed over the space where she stood, Hermione's stomach lurched.

"Hermione's not going anywhere with you," Harry stated.

Voldemort glanced back to Harry as he stepped to the side in a manner almost like a pace, and the others beside Harry visibly stiffened at the movement. "I can be reasonable, Harry. How about we make a trade?" He proposed, speaking with his hands, his wand tilting sideways in his grip. "Give me Granger, and I won't come back for you... for a few hours, at least."

"No."

Voldemort's jaw tightened. "I won't ask again."

Harry sneered, an expression he'd learned from the very best. "Well then... if it's Hermione you want... I suppose you'll just have to come and get her."

"Oh," Voldemort sounded happily as he broke into a wide grin. "Oh, how I was hoping you would say that."

And then, he struck.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I just say congratulations to the Guest reviewer who predicted Voldemort crashing the party? Gold star for you!


End file.
